Suffer the Children
by Garbage and City Lights
Summary: ...who says that Micah died at the end of CotC2? Not me. Though he was pulled into the turbine thingy and that blew up--it doesn't mean he might not survive. So this is about Micah recovering in a hospital--and making the alarming discovery that he los
1. Darkness

--Disclaimer: I own Nurse Edith, Doctor Phillips, any other nurses, and Gabrielle. I also own the storyline. I don't own CotC, any of the songs incorporated, or Micah. But I sure could use that last one... heh. Any pale, sun-deprived males who resemble this li'l cutie, c'mon over to my house anytime!--  
  
_I know now what shadows can see  
There's no point in running 'less you run with me  
It's half the distance through the open door  
Before you cut me down  
Again  
So let me introduce you to the end_  
--from _Shackled _by Vertical Horizon  
  
Shadows. Darkness. Faces. Whispers. Pain. Lots of pain.  
(ow god oh god this hurts)  
His thoughts were still jumbled and fuzzy. He couldn't quite get his eyelids to flutter open; they seemed like ten-ton weights. He couldn't move, either -- and that scared him.  
(god oh god this really _hurts_)  
He could still hear, though. The voices floated around his ears teasingly, sometimes harsh whispers and sometimes soft murmurings. But always, always, they were quiet. As if it weren't bad enough that he couldn't see them, the owners of the voices didn't even have the courtesy to speak louder. That made him mad, but the thoughts of anger mixed with the thoughts of pain and that just gave him a headache -- more pain. And that made him feel bitter, angry and bitter and hurting until he just drifted off into a fitful sleep. Then the dreams he had would consist of bizarre images and twisted memories  
(blood and shadows demons screaming voices watchful eyes looking at me only at me)  
which frightened him so badly  
(blood blood everywhere the stench of dying screams fire blazing out of control)  
that he jolted back to consciousness, still unable to open his eyes. And the dreams always left him without a sense of completion, but with one unexplainable word: corn.  
  
As time went by, the pain lessened -- bit by bit -- but he couldn't keep track of the days and that was yet another thing that made him mad. His thoughts and perception sharpened. He could tell when someone entered and when someone left, distinguished the voices from others. His resentment sharpened as well as his wit, but there was a tiny glimmer of hope -- and that gave him something to think about.  
(Why won't my eyes open? Maybe today. Maybe I can open my eyes today and see the world. Maybe--)  
And the darkness went on.  
(Not today. Not ever. I'll never be able to see anything ever again. I'll spend the rest of my life in this damned darkness.)  
And so did the dreams.  
(Oh God, please, don't let it get me -- blood, blood, so much blood all over my hands -- I didn't set that fire. Who lit the fire? Why is the church burning? Oh God, oh God...)  
And so did the pain.  
(Why won't someone just kill me? Please, put me out of my misery... I don't want to be in this darkness any more. Please, please, please--)  
Until one day  
(Please, please, please--)  
something clicked  
(--oh God, _please_--)  
and in the wonderfully bright hospital room  
(_Please!_)  
Micah Balding opened his eyes.  



	2. Screams and Sobs

_--Disclaimer: Same as before, 'cept one more thing: some lines used near the end of this chapter are property of Stephen King's short story, "Children of the Corn". I'm sure they're from some part of the Bible, but I'm way too lazy to go find any myself. Anywhos, enjoy!--  
  
Can you help me, I'm bent  
I'm so scared that I'll never  
Get put back together  
Keep breakin' me in  
And this is how we will end  
With you and me  
Bent_  
--from _Bent _by Matchbox 20  
  
He blinked several times, not quite sure if he was seeing correctly. The light was bright, very bright, and he immediately brought a hand up to his eyes to shield them. The shapes around him were blurry and shifting, mostly white. After what seemed an eternity of pleading for light, he felt a sudden panicked urge to go back to darkness.  
"Oh, look who's woken up!" cried a cheerful voice, and Micah squinted at the source. It was a large blurry white... _thing_. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep your life away." The Thing loomed closer, and he could make out what it was. It was a chubby woman clad in a white nurse's uniform. She was smiling broadly.  
"Wha--" he began, but she shook her head and frowned.  
"No no no no," she scolded, shaking a finger at him. "You've been in a coma for quite some time, young man. You shouldn't talk yet. You should rest."  
"I don't _want _to rest!" Micah struggled to a sitting position, despite the nurse's attempts to keep him still. "I can finally move and talk and see and you tell me to rest? I've been resting forever!" He blinked at the end of this angry protest.  
(My my my... is the room supposed to spin and twirl like that?)  
Feeling slightly foolish, he settled back into the pillow without another lecture from the nurse. Or, as her nametag read, Nurse Edith. She frowned at him, but seeing as he had already repented, the nurse gave him another smile.  
"I know, dear, I know." Nurse Edith scurried to the end of the bed, sneaking a peek at his medical chart. "You've been out for 4 months now."  
"4 months?" Micah echoed in disbelief. The nurse nodded.  
"Mm hm." Staring up at the ceiling, he rubbed at his forehead thoughtfully. _ 4 months._  
"How did I get in here anyway?" Nurse Edith pretended not to hear; she replaced the chart nervously and headed for the door.  
"I'll go get Dr. Phillips and tell him you've woken up, hm?" She didn't give him any say in the matter, though her question made it seem like he had a choice. The door closed behind her, and Micah was left in silence.  
(Coma. I was in a coma. _4 months_.)  
He turned slowly in his bed, facing the impeccably clean wall. He had an odd, floaty feeling; he couldn't quite keep track of his arms and legs. Medication, he supposed. There was also a strange sense of incompletion, like he was missing something. But what worried him the most was the fact that, even though he had a vage recollection of what had happened, he couldn't remember _exactly_. He was Micah Balding, that was for sure. His father was dead. The little town he had lived in, something horrible had happened... something horrible and evil. And he had the terrible sinking feeling that it was somehow his fault.  
  
He wasn't even aware that he had let his eyes drift closed until there was a gentle hand being pressed to his brow.  
"Mm. He feels a little warm." The palm was suddenly the back of a hand. "Edith, will you check him for me? I can't tell if he's got a fever or not." There was a dry chuckle.  
"That's usually what a thermometer is for, dear." That was the voice of Nurse Edith. "I'll check." Micah opened his eyes quickly, just barely catching sight of a girl walking away. Then Nurse Edith's round face was in front of him. "Hallooo!" He stifled a shriek of surprise.  
(My _God_, won't this woman go away?)  
She was waving a little glass tube in front of him. "Put this in your mouth, deary." Micah scowled, but parted his lips and let the thermometer slide in. Nurse Edith nodded cheerfully. "That's a good boy. Gabe," she suddenly cried, turning to look at the girl who had pressed her hand to Micah's forehead. He still couldn't see her face; she was bent at the waist, gathering what looked like a pile of burial shrouds  
(Stop. No no no. No.)  
but they were only sheets. The girl glanced up.  
"Hm?"  
"I'll take those, Gabe dear," Nurse Edith said, hurrying over and gathering the whole bundle in her arms. "You wait until Mr. Balding's thermometer is ready and check it for me, would you?"  
"Sure thing, Edith." The girl, Gabe, straightened and shot him a sidelong glance. He could see her face now; she was probably 15 or 16 with short blonde hair which she constantly ran her hand through. Her mouth sometimes twitched into a sideways smile, but right now she looked a little wary. The two watched each other from across the room, eyeing the enemy. Then Nurse Edith smiled cheerfully and waddled for the door, arms full of  
(burial shrouds)  
sheets.  
"I'll be back later. Don't you give her any trouble, Mr. Balding," she called over her shoulder.  
"No trouble at all," Gabe murmured, but she shot Micah another wary glance that made him feel uneasy.   
  
He sat in bed while the girl scurried about the room, fixing this and resituating that. Micah scowled uncomfortably, shifting the thermometer in his mouth. He had that weird feeling again, that sense of incompletion.  
(Like I'm not all here. But I am-- I _think_.)  
Gabe trotted over and shook her head in disapproval. "Y'can't do that," she said quickly, running her fingers through her hair again. He frowned at her and stuck his tongue out, dislodging the glass tube. Gabe let out a little snort of surprise and popped it right back in.  
"Mmph." Micah glared at her from beneath black brows. She gave him a small smile, but the scowl shriveled her grin quite soon.  
"Listen, my name's Gabrielle. Everyone calls me Gabe, though--" Gabe straightened his pillow and Micah threw his weight back into it, making it impossible to move. She frowned a little. "Look, I'm just trying to help--"  
"Don't need any help," he mumbled, mouth full of thermometer. Out of patience, the girl gave him a little sneer and snatched the chart from the end of his bed.  
"Listen, I'm a nurse's assistant, and it's my responsibility to--" Gabe stopped short, reading over the chart. Her face paled a little. "Oh--" She looked up at him, and there was a strange sort of sympathy in her eyes. Sympathy mixed with fear. Micah didn't like it at all.  
"What?" he mumbled through the thermometer. Gabe blinked at him, tilting her head slightly. Then she pulled the thermometer out of his mouth.  
"Mm. A little high." She checked his forehead again with the back of her hand. Micah pulled away disgustingly.  
"Will you stop that?" he snapped, swatting futiley at her. "Stop treating me like a child!" Gabe pulled her hand away slowly.  
"Sorry." She swallowed and glanced down at the chart again. The look on her face was really beginning to bother him. Swallowing one more time, she trailed her eyes carefully up to him. "Mr. Balding, can you wiggle the fingers on your right hand, please?" Micah rolled his eyes in exasperation.  
"This is--"  
"Please?" Gabe was clutching the chart tightly, as if something frightened her. Feeling a little worried himself, his scowl cleared and he moved his right hand obligingly. She nodded. "Good. Your other hand?" Micah did so. Gabe looked down at the chart yet again. When she looked up, there was a distinct waver of uncertainty about her. "Good. Now-- Mr. Balding--" Gabe swallowed painfully. Micah, unnerved by the way she was acting, threw up his arms.  
"What? What do you want me to do now, huh?" She didn't show any irritation; she replaced the chart carefully.  
"Mr. Balding, will you wiggle your toes for me?" He scowled at her.  
"Why are you making such a--" Then he paused. There was that feeling again that something was missing. A cold chill crept up his back, sweeping over his spine and up to the nape of his neck.  
"Mr. Balding," Gabe repeated, folding her hands to stop them from shaking. There was something very wrong here. "Wiggle your toes." Micah swallowed now, trying to force the heavy lump down his throat. He focused on moving his toes so this girl would leave him alone. He looked down at the shapes that were draped with the white bedsheet  
(Funny, weren't my feet a lot farther away than that...?)  
and tried to wiggle his toes. Nothing moved.  
"I--" He stopped short and tried again. Nothing moved.  
(There is something very wrong here.)  
Desperation overcoming him, Micah tried frantically to move his feet. Gabe placed a hand gently on his shoulder.  
"Mr. Bal--"  
(Wrong. Very very wrong.)  
"No!" he cried, jerking away from her touch. "No! I can do this! It's a simple--"  
"Mr. Balding," she repeated, "I don't want to have to sedate you." Her voice sounded more than a little nervous. "Please, hold still!" Micah kept thrashing.  
(Damn you! Damn you feet, why won't you move?! Come on, you bloody bastards, just _move!)_  
"Mr. Balding!" shrieked Gabe, and ripped the sheet off of the bed.  
  
He had no legs.  
  
That very fact shocked him into silence. Below the waist were two little stubs, cut off almost where his knees should be. Micah stared at them in total and utter disbelief.  
(That's not right. I _know _that's not right.)  
Gabe was shaking her head sadly, a palm pressed to her brow.  
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to--" He tore his eyes from the horror before him and looked up at the girl.  
"...where'd they go?" he murmured quietly, sounding rather like a child. Gabe blinked in surprise. Her eyes looked darker now-- perhaps because her face had turned pallid.  
"Mr. Balding," she said softly, moving closer to the bed. "Are you--"  
"I used to have two," Micah mumbled as he scratched his head in confusion. "I remember. I used to have two legs, longer than that. I'm almost sure of it." The girl frowned and spoke quietly to herself.  
"He must be in shock." Gabe grabbed the chart nervously, running her free hand through her hair. "I'm such an idiot, such a stupid-- Mr. Balding, don't worry. I'll--"  
"Yes, I'm quite sure that they were longer than that. I had feet too, I believe," he reassured her, nodding to affirm that statement. "Two of them." Growing more and more nervous, she pressed her hand to his forehead.  
"I think you're running a fever," she blurted, "I'll call in Nurse Edith." He shook his head, a confused little frown twisting his brows.  
"No, you don't have to. Unless she has my legs. I think she might, you might want to call her--" It was just then all rational thought that Micah had left his head. He could almost hear something snap inside. He shot straight up, hands clutching his hair tightly. "This isn't happening, this isn't real. No. Nononono--" Gabe shrieked at this sudden turn for the worse and grabbed at his shoulders.  
"Micah!" she cried, finally using his first name. "Micah, please, calm down. This'll all be all right, I promise--" Micah had his hands clamped over his ears now, shouting at the top of his lungs.  
"Atonement! Only by the blood of the lamb are we saved! A cloud by day, a pillar of fire by night!" He started rocking back and forth, babbling nervously. "Remand your soul to God, for you will stand before His throne sooner than you think! Thus let the iniquitous be cut down so that the ground may be fertile again, saith the Lord God of hosts!" Gabe let out a short scream and, seeing the only thing to do, gave him a good strong slap. Micah jerked back, body unbelievably stiff, and then slumped down. His crazy babbling became a soft whimper. "I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to..." The girl stared at him in disbelief, then pressed her hands tightly to her cheeks.  
"Oh my God," she murmured. He let out a soft sob, hiding his face behind his fingers.  
"I didn't mean to, I swear I didn't..."  
  
Nurse Edith walked in with nicely folded sheets.  
  
She opened her mouth to speak, that endlessly cheerful smile crinkling the corners of her eyes, and stopped. Nurse Edith took in the scene: Gabe looking absolutely terrified, Micah sobbing into his hands, and the blanket thrown aside to expose his non-existent legs.  
  
Needless to say, she dropped the sheets.  
  
"What _happened?"_ Nurse Edith shrieked, scurrying over quickly. Gabe looked up, shaking her head in a kind of delayed remorse.  
"I... I was trying to alert him of his condition, Edith, and he just started thrashing, so I had to show him -- I _had _to -- and then he started screaming this nonsense, but it was _horrible_, Edith--" She stopped herself as her voice cracked, threatening to spill tears of fright. In a small voice, she added, "I panicked."  
"Oh, _heavens_," murmured Nurse Edith, ignoring Gabe's explanation. She snapped the sheet back over Micah's lap and proceeded to fluff his pillow, whispering words of comfort. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Balding. Gabe shouldn't have reacted so hastily. If there's anything I can do--" But he was quiet now, no longer crying nor screaming, though the remnants of tears were drying rapidly on his pallid face. Gabe looked on a few feet away, hands tucked under her arms like they had just performed some horrible deed.  
"Edith, I'm under control now. Mr. Balding," she said hurriedly, turning her gaze to Micah, "I'm _so _sorry, I can't even--"  
"I think you need to go home, Gabe," Nurse Edith said stonily, turning from her patient to face the girl. Gabe blinked in surprise.  
"But I--"  
"Take the rest of the day off." The elder nurse sounded quite sure of her decision. "I'll see you tomorrow." Gabe shook her head quickly.  
"No, I promise, it was just a mistake, I really didn't mean to--"  
"Gabe." Nurse Edith's lips thinned. The girl surrendered, shoulders slumping. Her gaze drifted over to Micah. He stared blankly back at her, mind returning to his lost legs.  
(Gone. Both of them. Little nubs, just about as useless as a pirate's peg leg...)  
"...yes, Nurse Edith," she mumbled, and headed for the door. Micah watched her go.  
(Why don't I have any legs? Where did they go? ...and where is _she _going?)


	3. Right Through Me

--Blah blah blah. More disclaimer junk. You want to rub it in that I don't own Stephen King's brilliant ideas? Huh? DO YA?! Well, whatever. Just read and enjoy. Oh, and by the way-- I got an autographed picture from Micah himself, Ryan Bollman! ...who says there's no justice in this world, hum?--  
  
_Memories are just where you lead them  
Drag the waters 'til the depths give up their dead  
What did you expect to find?  
Was it something you left behind?  
Don't you remember anything I said when I said  
To fall away  
Leave me to myself  
To fall away  
And leave love bleeding in my hands  
_--from _In My Hands_ by Fuel  
  
Nurse Edith supplied Micah with a lovely and much-needed sedative, which put him out immediately. He drifted off into a deep sleep, but it was worse than a fitful nap -- in its own ways. His dream was disturbing, but even worse, it seemed real. Too real for comfort. His mind got in one last fuzzy thought  
(my legs oh god my legs)  
before the sleep was upon him, full and heavy and dark.  
  
_They stood around him, the Children, his followers, eyes bright and watchful and waiting. Ready for his orders. A yellowish robe was draped around his shoulders, a symbol of authority. He could feel that he was covered in a cold sweat, but he didn't care. He was the leader, he was the chosen, he was the messenger. And he would give the command to kill. A fire burned in the distance, the remnants of the church a blazing beacon to all who would defile the corn. He felt a smirk curl his lips. Suffer the children to come unto me, hm?  
  
And then the evil inside him recoiled a little. _No, _his conscience screamed,_ no, I don't want to do this! This is wrong! _ He gasped with the sudden and complete release; the monster had let go. But it regained control again, squeezing harder than ever. No, there would be no changes in the plan. It would all go beautifully, smoothly. He raised the scythe to spill the blood, to supply He Who Walks Behind The Rows with a proper sacrifice.  
  
(!!NO!!)  
  
Before the sharp blade had even bit skin, he had faltered, let down his guard for only a moment. And that was all it took. The machine was upon him like an attack dog, steel teeth clamped firmly upon the yellow hem of his robe. He could feel the evil inside cringe as its temporary home headed towards certain death. The machine whirred and belched smoke, unyielding to his cries, and began to slowly pull him in. The end of his robe disappeared into the blades and he whirled, clawing at the ground in wild animal desperation. He screamed for help, for his friends to help him. The machine pulled relentlessly, blades eager for a... _sacrifice_. Now blood would be spilled.  
  
(!!HELP ME!!)  
  
But the Children just watched in blank silence, their once bright eyes now cold and hard.  
  
(!!DEAR GOD, SOMEONE HELP ME!!)  
  
The blades began their work and he could hear himself crying. The pain was unbelievable, and the evil felt it. It hissed in defeat and released him completely, scurrying with cowardice off into the night. Leaving him. Leaving him there to die.  
  
(!!NO!!)  
  
His fingers clawed at anything they could, nails digging frantically in the dirt. He knew his blood was soaking the ground. It was soaking the ground and defiling the corn.  
  
(!! I BELIEVED YOU, BELIEVED EVERY SINGLE DIRTY FILTHY LIE THAT YOU TOLD ME--!!)  
  
And then the machine exploded.  
  
_Micah screamed, hands clawing at the bedsheets. The woman at the end of his bed quirked an eyebrow at him. It wasn't Nurse Edith or Gabe, but a tall skinny nurse with a face that resembled a horse. Flushing red, he leaned back against the pillow.  
"Mm. Awake." The new nurse snuck a glance at Micah's chart. He shifted uncomfortably in bed, wiping the cold sweat off of his forehead. The memory had come back, full and clear and awful.  
(Well, I wanted to know where my legs went...)  
"Yeah," he mumbled. "Um, where's Nurse Edith? And Gabe?" The woman replaced the chart with a sharp snap of her wrist.  
"Nurse Edith has gone home. It's nearly 11 o'clock, Mr. Balding." She headed towards a cabinet, lips pursing in irritation. "Gabrielle has taken a day off. I'm Nurse Pruitt." Micah pulled the covers tightly up to his chest. He didn't feel quite comfortable with this nurse.  
"Um..." He offered a small -- and completely forced -- smile. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to be alone?" Nurse Pruitt looked up and wrinkled her nose.  
"I _do _mind, as a matter of--"  
"I am a patient, right?" Micah said quietly. The nurse blinked.  
"Yes, but--"  
"And being a patient, I have certain rights." He folded his hands calmly in his lap. "I believe one of them is whether I wish to have privacy or not, hm?" Nurse Pruitt pursed her lips so tightly that it looked like she had been sucking on a lemon.  
"As you say, Mr. Balding," she said stiffly, then marched out the door. Micah thought he caught her muttering something to herself, but he couldn't hear the words. Before he knew it, the sedative was back for another round, and he was out again.  
  
"Mild shock and trauma. He'll be fine."  
"Are you sure, Dr. Phillips? Because I feel horrible, I really didn't mean to--"  
"We know, Gabe dear. But Mr. Balding has been through quite a lot lately..." Micah heard the voices quite clearly; the speakers were hovering over his bed. Trying to be discreet, he cracked an eyelid and watched in silence. It was an elderly man with graying hair  
(Dr. Phillips, I presume?)  
flanked by Nurse Edith and Gabe. Daylight was peeking through the curtains  
(God, days go by fast here. 24 hours down the tube already and I've been awake for about 1 of them.)  
and, by the way Nurse Edith was yawning, it was apparently quite early in the morning.  
"It's quite all right, Gabe," murmured Dr. Phillips. "Patients are quite susceptible to shock after such a traumatizing experience." Micah opened his eyes slowly. The doctor smiled sleepily down at him. "Good morning."  
"Mmph," he mumbled, looking around the bed at his visitors. Gabe wrung her hands worriedly.  
"I-- I wanted to tell you that I'm really sorry about what happened--" Micah looked up at her blankly.  
"Hm? Oh. That." He gave her a smooth smile. "No problem. No problem at all. I wasn't that worried, it was just that I was  
(terrified out of my wits a raving maniac I screamed and cried like a child)  
still feeling woozy and it was quite a surprise. I'm fine now." Nurse Edith grinned cheerfully at him, turning to Gabe.  
"See? I told you everything was all right." Dr. Phillips nodded and began for the door.  
"Right. If there's anything you need, Mr. Balding, feel free to ask Gabe. She'll be your attendant for today." The girl looked at Micah warily, and he had the distinct feeling that she was seeing right through his suave attitude. That made him feel uncomfortable and naked  
(Go on, bitch, what _else _is wrong with me?)  
so he glanced away. Dr. Phillips went right on talking.  
"If there are any problems, Gabe," he said easily, "just give Nurse Edith a buzz." The doctor tapped a finger in the direction of the call device. Gabe nodded, tucking her hands under her arms nervously.  
"I'll be sure to," she mumbled. Micah noted that she looked more than a little offended, but Dr. Phillips and Nurse Edith left without noticing. Gabe shot him another glance  
(she's looking right through you)  
and dropped her hands to her sides.  
"Well." She ambled over towards him and lifted a hand to check his forehead, then paused. "Would you rather I get a thermometer?" Micah shook his head, not feeling strong enough to argue.  
"Nah. Just check quickly." Gabe did so, then started for the medicine cabinet, looking pleased.  
"Mm. Good. You're just a little warm, so I'll give you some aspirin just to be safe." She looked over her shoulder  
(Stop _doing _that!)  
as she wrestled with the child-proof cap on the bottle. "You don't have a headache or anything, do you?" Micah shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.  
"No."  
"Oh. Good." Gabe filled a paper cup with water quickly, then handed it to him along with the pill. Micah looked down at it and felt a smirk form on his face.  
"How do I know this won't kill me?" The girl quirked an eyebrow, shoving the pill into his hand harshly.  
"You don't," she said with a tight smile, and turned away. "It's already 10:30. Lunch will be here pretty soon."  
(There goes my guess that it was early morning.)  
Micah swallowed the pill quickly and tossed the cup at the trashcan. It hit the rim and fell, smashing into the ground. Water splashed up like it had exploded  
(like a machine)  
and Gabe whirled with a snort of indignance.  
"God, did you have to do that?" she demanded, hurrying over and scooping it back into the trashcan. Micah didn't answer, he just leaned back in bed and smiled pleasantly. Gabe ripped a papertowel from the roll on the counter and wiped up the mess, grumbling under her breath. "You're lucky Nurse Pruitt isn't in here. She'd have your hide if you spilled one drop." Micah rolled his eyes, pushing away the suddenly clear memory of his accident.  
"You're not a very caring caretaker," he said calmly. Gabe, bent at the waist, looked up at him  
(right through you dammit she sees_ right through you)_  
and smirked -- both amused and irritated.  
"You're going to be trouble. I just know it." She crumpled the paper towel and turned away. Micah stared at her back solemnly, trying to shake off the feeling of transparency.  
(You too, bitch. You too.)


	4. The Priest

--Yadda yadda yadda. Is anyone even reading this part anymore? Allrighty, I own the nurses, the doctors, the story line, and Gabe. I don't own CotC or Micah or-- OR ANYTHING THAT'S EVEN DECENT IN THIS RIDICULOUS LITTLE FIC! ...but I digress. Just read.--  
  
_I sang Alleluia in the choir  
I confessed my darkest deeds to an envious man  
My brothers they never went blind for what they did  
But I may as well have  
In the name of the Father, the Skeptic and the Son  
I had one more stupid question_  
--from _Forgiven _by Alanis Morrissette  
  
Gabe brought in lunch a little while later, a tray in her hands and a bottle of orange juice balanced under her chin.  
"You looked hungry after not eating for 4 months," she said with the air of one commenting on the weather. "so I brought you something." The girl placed the tray on his lap before he could protest. Micah squinted at the food. There was a small sandwich, lots of vegetables, and some Jell-O that looked much too wiggly for comfort.  
"I'm not hungry," he muttered, pushing the tray away. Gabe set down the orange juice on his tray and rolled her eyes.  
"You are so. Do you need me to feed you, or can you handle a fork by yourself?" Micah glared up at her, snatching the fork and jabbing at his food.  
"I think I've got it under control." He poked at the Jell-O; the fork stuck for a few seconds before he could pull it out.  
(Wow. If that machine didn't kill me, the hospital food will.)  
Gabe made a little face and opened his orange juice for him.  
"Well, you'd better take it and eat it. Or there'll be Hell to pay." Micah blinked at her words  
(take this and eat saith the lord god)  
and poked the Jell-O again.  
"Mmph." But he scooped up some vegetables anyway, eyeing them carefully -- carrots, broccoli, potatoes --  
(corn oh god there's corn)  
and dropped the fork back onto the plate.  
"I'm _really _not hungry," Micah murmured, staring at the kernels of yellow that had been scattered onto the sheet. Gabe looked up at him questioningly.  
"Ah--" She glanced at the plate and a flicker of uncertainty flitted over her face. Her eyes drifted back up to him  
(why is she looking at me like that)  
and didn't accuse, but understood.  
"You don't have to eat the corn, Mr. Balding," she said gently. Micah looked up at her sharply.  
"What do you--" But she had already begun to carefully scrape the vegetables into the trashcan. He watched in silence, waiting until she placed the plate in front of him again. Then he took the sandwich and raised it to his mouth. "Thanks," he mumbled, taking a bite. Micah watched Gabe out of the corner of his eye; she was looking somber.  
"No problem," she whispered, turning away again. He chewed quietly on the dry roast beef and watched her back. Gabe was really beginning to bother him; she always seemed to know more than she should.  
(She looks at me like she knows something. What, though?)  
Micah swallowed and took another bite of his sandwich, avoiding the Jell-O at all costs.  
(She couldn't know anything. But she does-- she knows about the corn.)  
Gabe was calmly scribbling something on a clipboard. He squinted at her, trying to imitate her amazing x-ray vision, but he couldn't look through her.  
(How could she, though? How?)  
There were no answers to these questions he had, and he wasn't getting anything from Gabe. So Micah scowled and finished his sandwich.  
  
Silence reigned supreme in the hospital room. Gabe was randomly jotting down notes on her clipboard and snacking on a bag of chips she'd bought from the vending machine down the hall. Micah was sulkily reading a three-year-old People magazine. He'd tried to sleep, but the eyes of the Children always appeared before he could drift off, so he remained awake and with a pounding headache. Of course, he denied that he was either tired or in pain, so there was no relief from the migraine. Gabe tried to strike up a conversation several times, but Micah refused to talk. And now they were silent, each sulking in their own corner -- up until Nurse Pruitt came in.  
"Gabrielle," she said sharply, startling both of them. Gabe dropped a chip on the floor, glared at it, then smiled at the older woman.  
" 'Lo, Nurse Pruitt," she murmured politely. The elder nurse simply bustled towards Micah, who resisted the urge to sneer with distaste.  
"I am simply making a quick check-up of the patient," she snapped, bony fingers checking his forehead and pulse before he had the chance to bite them. "I wouldn't want anything to -- go _wrong_." Gabe's face went pale with anger; she forced another polite smile.  
"Mm. How considerate of you. I do, however, have things under control." Micah scowled as Nurse Pruitt pulled her hands away after fluffing his pillow.  
"Do you?" The elder nurse smiled thinly. "Glad to hear it." Gabe's forced grin wavered. She ushered Nurse Pruitt to the door with a little less patience than she had before.  
"Yes, I do. And I would appreciate it if you left me to my duties." Nurse Pruitt whirled and started to say something, but -- her patience spent -- Gabe slammed the door in her face. Micah blinked in surprise.  
(That old bitch just touched me. Ew.)  
Gabe scowled at the closed door, muttering under her breath.  
"Crazy old hag," she grumbled. Micah rubbed at his forehead, Nurse Pruitt's visit already behind him. Sleep was welling behind his eyes, but so were the faces of the Children. Now his eyelids refused to close.  
(Can't sleep. Don't want another dream.)  
Gabe glanced at him, brow furrowing  
(don't _look _at me like that STOPPIT)  
in concern.  
"Mr. Balding--" she began, but he stopped her tiredly.  
"Look, it's too confusing whenever you say that. I think someone's talking to my  
(dead father say it your father that's dead and _you don't care)  
_dad, so just call me Micah." He rubbed again at his face. Gabe nodded a little, taking something out of the cabinet.  
"All right. Micah, you don't look well. Are you sure you're not tired...?" She produced a small bottle of pills, different from the one that she gave him earlier. Micah cocked a brow at her.  
"What're--" he started, then stopped. There was something beneath his pillow, jabbing into his back. Gabe noticed it too and pulled it out -- a small crucifix. It was a cheap little plastic thing, a simple cross with a suffering Jesus nailed to it. But it made him shiver all the same. "What's that doing there?" Gabe chewed at her lower lip nervously and tossed the cross at the trashcan.  
"That bitch Pruitt put it under your pillow," she muttered. Micah frowned.  
"Why would--"  
"Here. Take this." Gabe offered a cup of water and a pill. He scowled at this too, putting his hands up to defend him.  
"God, will you stop shoving things at me?" The girl pushed it closer.  
"Take the pill," she insisted.  
(take this and eat saith the lord god)  
Micah squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He heard a frustrated growl and felt Gabe clamp a hand around his wrists.  
"I'll force it down your throat if you want," she snapped, "Now open your mouth!" He shook his head again, but Gabe let go of his wrists and seized his chin roughly.  
"Ow!" he complained, though it didn't hurt -- just surprised him. Micah opened his eyes to see Gabe less than a foot from his face. She had her mouth set in a thin line.  
"You're going to take this pill," she said tightly, "and you're going to sleep. You're going to get some rest and relaxation if it--"  
(don't say kills me don't say kills me)  
"--kills you." Micah cringed and clamped his mouth shut. Gabe, patience wilting, pinched his nose shut until he couldn't breathe. When he gasped for air, she squeezed his cheeks so his lips were pooched out like a goldfish. Micah scowled at her as she raised the pill to his lips. "Swallow it," Gabe murmured, popping in the pill and pouring water from the cup into his mouth. He did so, glaring all the while. She poured more water and he swallowed that too, feeling suddenly and completely sleepy. Gabe didn't let go of his mouth quite yet; she squinted at him. "Your eyes are so dark," she whispered, gently moving her grip to his chin. He blinked sleepily at her, brows twisting into a frown.  
"Hm?" he mumbled, and she let go of his face.  
"Nothing." Gabe leaned him back against the pillow, setting aside the cup of water. "Go to sleep. You're dead  
(dead dead dead)  
tired and you need your rest." But Micah didn't even hear the rest of her sentence; he drifted off into a peaceful sleep and the world was lost to him.  
  
It was nearly 6:30 p.m. when Micah woke up and saw the priest.  
  
He was a tall man with white hair, and the fact that he was leaning over Micah made him seem three times taller. The boy blinked rapidly up at the priest, taking in his black robe and white collar. A rosary hung from the man's neck. Micah blinked again, then screamed.  
"Jesus _Christ_, what are you _doing?!"_ He scrambled back into the wall. The priest, wide-eyed and clutching his Bible to his chest, started reciting Our Father.  
"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name--" Micah looked around frantically. There wasn't anyone else in the room.  
"Gabe!" he bellowed, "Gabe, where are you? Good God, get this guy away from me!" The priest stopped the prayer and said shakily,  
"I'm here to give you your last rites, son--"  
"Last rites?!" Micah shook his head desperately. "But I'm not dying!" The priest held his Bible out in front of him like a shield.  
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee--" Micah clamped his hands over his ears.  
"Stop it, stop it!"  
"--blessed art thou among women--"  
"STOP STOP STOP STOP!!" He felt his fingers clutch his hair as he tried to block out the prayer. "STOP STOP _STOP!!"_  
"What the hell--?!" Gabe skidded into the room, running quickly over to the bed. "Father Clementè!" Micah looked up at them, hands still over his ears. The priest looked very startled.  
"Gabrielle, I'm afraid there's been a mistake--"  
"Damn right there's been a mistake," gasped Micah, lowering his hands. "This guy just came in and started babbling at me, Gabe, and it scared the he--" Gabe moved towards him and pressed her palm to his forehead.  
"Sh, quiet," she murmured, turning to the priest. "Father Clementè, it's all right. You've got the wrong room." Father Clementè nodded shakily, heading for the door.  
"Very sorry, son. Very sorry." He muttered something in Italian as he turned the corner, then was out of sight.  
  
Micah gaped after him, heart still pounding from the scare.  
"My _God_," he murmured. "What a crazy old man." Gabe nodded, her hands lingering on Micah's shoulders.  
"He got confused." She hesitated, then pulled away and started for the chair at the other side of the room. "You missed dinner," she called over her shoulder. "Are you hungry at all?" He shook his head in a silent 'no'. Gabe shrugged and collapsed into the chair. Micah dragged a hand across his forehead.  
"Wow. What a way to wake up." There was a short pause. Gabe was fiddling with her silver thumbring, Micah staring at his hands. Then he spoke up. "Hey, Gabe," he began. The girl looked up.  
"Hm?" Micah shifted uncomfortably.  
"Look, things haven't been exactly... _normal _since I woke up. I thought maybe you'd know what's going on." Gabe squinted a little  
(oh god she's doing it again)  
and scratched her temple idly.  
"What do you mean?" Micah let out an exasperated little breath.  
"Oh, come on. The way Pruitt's been acting, the crucifix, the priest-- the _corn_--" Gabe held up a hand to stop him, then ticked off the points on her fingers.  
"Pruitt's a lonely old woman with nothing better to do than pester the patients. She put the crucifix there to make you feel uncomfortable. Father Clementè wandered into the wrong room. And today's special in the cafeteria was mixed vegetables." She folded her hands calmly in her lap. "That's all." Micah squinted, not quite believing her.  
"Mm." And all at once, something he had been meaning to say hit him. He narrowed his eyes. "You gave me a sleeping pill."  
"What?" Gabe looked up, having grabbed the magazine that Micah had discarded.  
"You gave me a sleeping pill," he repeated, scowling now. The girl blushed a little in the dim light.  
"You weren't going to sleep on your own," she mumbled, turning the page of her magazine. "and I know you were tired, so don't lie to me. You feel better now, don't you?" Micah raised an eyebrow, then sighed in defeat.  
"Well... yeah, I guess."  
"Y'see?" Gabe looked back down at an article on George Bush Sr.'s election and made a face. The boy watched her for a moment, then leaned back in bed.  
"Mmph."  
"And don't grunt at me like that. I'm right and you know it." She glanced up for a moment with a sideways grin  
(she can see right through you idiot)  
and then back down to her magazine.  
"Try to get some more sleep. Tomorrow morning Nurse Edith's going to bring down a wheelchair so you can try it out a little. We need to build up those arm muscles of yours, Bulimia Boy." Micah let out another indignant snort, then crossed his arms over his chest.  
(Wheelchair. I need a wheelchair.)  
Gabe glanced up from her magazine for another quiet moment, making him wince.  
(God, not even my thoughts feel private anymore.)  
He returned the look with a sneer and she lowered her eyes.  
(I'm gonna have to watch this one.)  
And then his thoughts drifted elsewhere, leaving the room in silence once again.   



	5. Forgiveness

--...I own nothing, all right? ARE YOU HAPPY!? I'll just give all my brilliant ideas and characters to the world around me! ...just joking. If you have some sort of disclaimer fetish, just go back and read all my other ones. They're much wittier than this one here. Oh, I must give credit to the line "A kiss is a lovely technique designed by nature to stop speech when words seem superfluous." That was from my friend Amanda, but I really don't know where she got it from. Love ya, babe! This one's for you!--  
  
_She was the one to hold me  
The night the sky fell down  
What was I thinking when  
The world didn't end  
Why didn't I know   
What I know now_  
--from _Crazy For This Girl _by Evan and Jaron  
  
Gabe left for a few minutes to change out of her nurse's uniform, complaining that it was too stiff and needed to be broken in. Micah felt a million sarcastic jokes fill his head at that opportunity, but said nothing. When she returned, the girl wore a plain pair of jeans, a faded tie-dye shirt, and a mismatched pair of sneakers. He noted that one was red and the other decorated in stars and stripes, a weird representation of the American flag.  
"I hate that thing," Gabe muttered as she collapsed back into the chair. "I swear, they use enough starch on that uniform to make a pasta dinner." Micah stared blankly back at her, a raven-colored brow raised. The girl's lips twitched in a slightly irritated smirk. "Y'know, because pasta's high in starch? Carbohydrates?"  
"...that was supposed to be amusing?" he said dimly, then blinked like an idiot. Micah repressed the urge to snicker as he blinked again. "Oh. Ha! Ha! Ha!" Gabe rolled her eyes at him and propped up her mismatched feet on a chair.  
"You're a regular Jerry Seinfield, you know that?" Micah smirked and did a half-hearted bow.  
"Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you."  
"Your mouth, Mr. Wise-Ass, is going to get you into a lot of trouble." Gabe pulled herself out of the chair and ambled over to check his chart.  
"Hey," he protested, "my wise ass has gotten me through quite a lot!"  
"I'm sure it has," the girl murmured, and held out a hand expectantly. "Your wrist, Mr. Comedian." Micah let out a groan.  
"Do I have to?"  
"I need to check your pulse. Unless, of course, you'd rather have Pruitt do it." Gabe grinned involuntarily. "Just imagine, Pruitt with her wrinkly old hands--"  
"All right!" he cried, sticking out his arm in surrender. "No more! I'll talk!" The girl chuckled and grabbed his arm, fingers gently pressing against his wrist. Micah felt a chill sweep through him, almost the same as when she looked at him carefully. Except she wasn't looking at him right now, she was checking her watch. He shook his head a little as the chill passed. It was silly, the way he was acting. Paranoid. Gabe's fingers shifted positions a few times before she let go and sighed.  
"You love being difficult, don't you? I can't feel your pulse. Tilt your head up for me." Micah cocked a skeptical brow.  
"Why?"  
"Because," she said pertly, "if I don't check your pulse, Pruitt will. Now tilt your head up." He rolled his eyes for what felt the thirtieth time that day, but did as she said. Gabe placed two fingers carefully on his neck, looking back at her watch. The same odd chill crept through him, sweeping from his neck and down to his spine. It suddenly hit him how vulnerable this position was; anyone with their head tilted back like this exposed his throat to the world, to any potential dangers and mishaps. Why, a poor sap with his neck displayed like this could have it cut  
(cut with a scythe)  
at any moment. In fact, Gabe could just shove her fingers with a simple flick of the wrist and he would be at her mercy, oxygen pent up inside his mouth and not reaching his lungs.  
(You're a fool, a stupid idiotic weak little fool--)  
He scowled at his own sadistic thoughts and waited for Gabe to finish.  
(You're being silly. Gabe would never do a thing like that, especially not here in a crowded hospital--)  
Another thought interrupted his own. A quiet little voice from the depths of his mind that just happened to seize this opportunity as a chance to make its opinion known.  
(...and how do you know that?...)  
"All right, looks good." Gabe glanced away from her watch and at Micah. "Goodness, what's wrong with you? You act like I've got a knife to your throat or something."  
(You don't know the half of it, woman.)  
She smirked, a sideways little smile, and tickled him briefly under the chin.  
"Y'need to lighten up a bit, bud," Gabe quipped. Micah snorted out of his thoughts and pulled away.  
"What's your problem?" he cried, leaning against the pillow like he had been backed into a corner. Gabe blinked at this reaction as she pulled her hand away.  
"Hey, don't get all worked up. I was just joking." She walked towards the counter and picked up her clipboard, scribbling more notes onto it. "Well well well. That's quite interesting. I should make a note of that."  
"What is?" asked Micah sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest. Gabe smirked to herself as she jotted down something.  
"Mr. Ice-and-Iron is ticklish."  
"What?!" he cried, shooting forward like someone had kicked him in the rump. "I-- I am not!"  
"Y'are so," she replied calmly. Gabe paused, contemplating the next thing to write, then moved pen over paper again. Micah sputtered in the bed.  
"I am _not!"_  
"Y'are so-_oo_." Her complacence was infuriating. The boy growled and beat the sheets lightly with his fists.  
"I am NOT!" he insisted. Gabe stopped writing and set aside the clipboard, tucking the pen lazily behind her ear.  
"All right." She shrugged a little. "Whatever you say." Micah scowled at her.  
"Don't humor me," he snapped. "It's the truth, and you know it!"  
"Yessir. It's the truth." The girl put on a solemn face and held up a hand, the other going over her heart. "So help me God."  
_"Stop making fun of me!" _ Micah howled. She couldn't take it anymore; Gabe collapsed back into a chair, lost in a giggling fit. He glared at her as she laughed, but Micah realized something that scared him.  
(Oh no. No no no.)  
There was a sudden click in his mind as it registered.  
(I actually _like _this girl. Oh God. No no no.)  
He shook his head a little as if that movement would shoo away the feeling, but it didn't do any good.  
(That can't be right. No. No no no _no_--)  
"What's the matter, O Ye of the Pale and Sun-Deprived Disposition?" Gabe had gotten over her fit of laughter and was now leaning forward, hands on her knees. Micah blinked, then scowled at her.  
"Nothing," he snapped, jerking his head back in a snotty sort of nod. The girl just rolled her eyes.  
"Oh, c'mon. You're not sore at me over that little joke, are you?"  
"...what joke? It wasn't funny."  
"Oh, but _I_ certainly found it entertaining!" Gabe said emphatically. Micah just darkened his scowl, but she reached forward and gave him a poke in the stomach. He squeaked -- quite loudly -- and the girl found this incredibly amusing. Gabe nearly fell out of her chair this time, holding her own stomach as she laughed. Micah let out a frustrated breath and rubbed at his cheeks, which had turned an interesting shade of pink.  
(Oh, God. What just happened here?)  
Overcoming her laughter, Gabe looked up and grinned at him. This time, she didn't look through him, but _at _him. This only disturbed him more.  
(Just keep quiet. She doesn't have to know.)  
That soft voice from the depths of his mind spoke up again; calmly, almost as if it were lacing its fingers in an expression of complacence.  
(And she won't. Not if you keep your mouth shut.)  
He had no idea where that voice had come from, but it seemed to have good advice at times.  
(And you _will _keep your mouth shut, you stupid little mongrel.)  
The voice scared him this time, but now Gabe was trying to poke him in the side in an effort to provoke more squeals. Micah left this macabre little voice on its own and returned to fighting his own battle.  
  
_Silence. Silence in the cornfield. He moved along quietly, quickly, trying to lose the monster that was on his tail. And then, without warning, there it was . Right in front of his face. The monster.  
  
His father.  
  
It was a great, looming face, terrifying and unyielding. It opened its mouth and began to shout at him.  
"Pray! Get down on your knees and _pray_, you sinful little bastard!" He tried to drop to his knees, but there was something stopping him. He couldn't comply with the monster's orders. And of course, that made the monster angry, and so the monster hit him. The shout turned into a screech. "Dirty, filthy, conniving little sinner! Get down on your knees and pray to God for forgiveness!" He cried out against the blows that rained down on him like fire, but the monster wouldn't stop. "Evil little bastard! Child of the Devil! Son of Satan! Ask for forgiveness, _pray _for it, you dirty little worm! Pray for the forgiveness you don't deserve!" He gasped for breath and tried to remember a prayer, _any _prayer.  
"O-our father, who a-a-art in Heaven, h-h-hallowed be thy n-n-n--" But the monster kept beating him, his father the monster, and he couldn't remember the rest. He choked on a sob. "Hallowed be thy n-n--"  
"Name, you idiot!" screamed his father. "Idiot, imbecile, filthy malicious little mongrel! Pray for forgiveness! Pray for Daddy! Pray! PRAY FOR FORGIVENESS! DO IT!"  
  
_Micah screamed, long and loud and wavering, and shot forward in bed. He landed right in two outstretched, surprised arms; ones that closed around him after a moment's hesitation.  
"Sh, sh," whispered a voice soothingly. Gabe. He buried his face into her shoulder without even realizing what he was doing.  
"O-o-our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name," he mumbled quickly, voice muffled by the tie-dye shirt he was leaning into. "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven." Micah let out a sob and tightened his grip around Gabe, feeling his own body rack with shudders. "I remembered, I remembered the prayer---"  
"Sh, quiet now," murmured Gabe as she slid a hand up behind his neck. "It's all right, everything's all right."  
"I need to pray, I need to pray..." Micah tried to catch his breath, but the sobs were stealing it from him. Gabe stroked the back of his neck tenderly.  
"All right, we can pray," she whispered, beginning to gently rock him back and forth. Gabe lowered her mouth to his ear and finished the prayer for him. "Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." She paused, then pressed a light kiss to the lobe of his ear. "Amen." Micah was dimly surprised, but he was still overcoming the horrifying images in the dream. He couldn't even remember falling asleep.  
"A-amen," he echoed, choking back another sob. Gabe kept rocking him gently as her fingers stroked the back of his neck.  
"Everything's going to be fine," she murmured, breath warm in his ear. "I promise you. It was just a dream. Everything's going to be just fine."  
(You're acting like an infant. Straighten up and be a man.)  
Micah tried, he really did, but terrified shudders kept sweeping through him and he couldn't stop the flow of tears.  
"It was him," he whimpered, grasping folds of her shirt for comfort. "It was him, he was there, he was _real_, and he kept screaming at me-- telling me to pray, but I couldn't remember _how_, and he--"  
"Hush," Gabe said quietly, "You're not there now. You're here. He's gone, and you're all right."  
"No, no, no..." Micah squeezed his eyes shut at the horrible reality of it all. "I thought so, I thought he was gone, but he'll never be gone, not _ever_..." She didn't reply with anything this time, just tightened her embrace and continued to rock him gently back and forth. They stayed like this for a good ten minutes before Micah finally stopped shaking and the horror had passed.  
  
He pulled away slowly, suddenly and fully aware that this was his second nervous breakdown since he had woken up in this hospital.  
"I--" Micah began, then coughed to steady his voice. "I'm all right now. Really." He cracked a forced little grin. "Just another one of my crazy dreams."  
"Mm hm." Gabe slid her arms from him and crossed them over her chest. Micah swallowed nervously, rubbing at his forehead.  
"No, really, just an insane-- Well, haven't you ever had a dream like that?" A blonde eyebrow was raised at this.  
"Not one where I wake up screaming a prayer." Gabe leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. "Are you sure you're all right? Because that was a really awful dream that you had, apparently, and I think you're still a little--"  
"I'm _fine_," he reassured her stiffly as he pushed away hair from his eyes. There was a pause before blue eyes squinted at him  
(oh no oh no right through me)  
and the girl put a palm to his face.  
"No you're not," she murmured, hand moving from his forehead to his cheek. "You feel really warm, and you're still trembling a little." Gabe watched him for a moment  
(she's looking right through you, right down to the very last lie)  
as her thumb began gently stroking his cheek.  
"You don't have to say you're fine when you're not. There's no judgement here, Micah-- if you hurt, tell me you hurt." He stared back in what he hoped was a stoic manner, but he could feel that there were still tears escaping his eyes.  
"Listen to me," he said quietly, disregarding the tears slipping down his cheeks. "I. Am. Just. Fi--" Gabe interrupted this lie with a kiss  
(!!!)  
that was sudden and totally unexpected. She pulled away just as quickly as she had closed in, eyes wide. Apparently, she hadn't been expecting that either. Micah blinked in surprise. "...Gabe?" She licked her lips slowly, staring back with wide blue eyes.  
"What?" Before he could answer, Gabe jerked backwards and shook her head, pressing her palms to her brow. "No, no, I can't do this, I can't, I can't--" She looked up, still shaking her head to emphasize the point that she could _not _do this, thank you very much. "Micah, I _can't_, I'll get fired-- do you know what they do when they find nurses and patients...?"  
"...fire them?" he echoed dimly, blinking. Gabe nodded emphatically.  
"Yes, that's exactly what they do. And without a job, there's no money for school, and without money for school, I can't get out of this godforsaken place-- oh God, Micah, I _can't _do this--"  
(do it do it now DO IT NOW)  
Micah interrupted her this time, pressing his lips to hers in a clumsy attempt to stop her from talking. It lasted for one long, glorious moment before they parted. Gabe blinked at him.  
"...A kiss is a lovely technique designed by nature to stop speech when words seem superfluous," she said distantly. Micah frowned.  
"What?"  
"Just something I heard somewhere," Gabe said with a shake of her head, then let out a nervous little chuckle. "Ohboy."  
"What?" he repeated. The girl smiled weakly at him.  
"I don't think it's as easy to give you up as I thought." Micah shrugged.  
"So don't give me up."  
(Is this you talking, O Great And Powerful Emotionless One?)  
Gabe grinned and slid her hand into his gently.  
"You're going to make things a lot more complicated around here. I just know it." Micah smirked, though his eyes lingered on their hands.  
"Complication. My specialty."


	6. The Accusation

--...oh, stop reading these, already. Stephen King owns most of this junk, but I own Gabe, the nurses, the doctors, Mr. Towers... but not the one that really counts. Oh, well. And-- due to a request-- I will be dedicating this chapter to my friend David, for almost saving me from Drew. Thanks for trying, David. ...but I still got wet. Damn. Also, this chapter is NOT dedicated to snotty freshman girls who: 1) think they're black; 2) talk about smoking pot on the roof; or 3) say "What the ass?!" I don't care what they say-- that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Okay, did I get your attention? Read on, then!--_  
  
Would you choose water over wine?  
Hold the wheel and drive_  
--from _Drive _by Incubus  
  
"I don't want to do this."  
"Tough luck, pal. You have to."  
"I feel like an old man."  
"Well, get going, Gramps."  
"Young whippersnapper." Micah smirked and situated the blanket over his legs  
(stumps)  
carefully. Gabe had taken him out into the hall early that morning in a newly pilfered wheelchair. He had asked her suspiciously if she'd stolen it, but she just shook her head with a grin. Now she stood behind him, hands wrapped tightly around the handles of the chair.  
"Keep talking like that and I'll take you to the seniors ward." Gabe chuckled and gave him a little push for emphasis, not letting go. "Ready? I'll give you a nudge and then you have to spin the wheels with your hands."  
"Okay," he said unsurely, glancing down at the large silver wheels beneath him. They didn't look at all friendly, but there was no other way to get around. So Micah sighed and positioned his hands on the wheels. "Go on. I'm ready." It was nearly 6 a.m., and with a glance around he realized that there was no one in the halls.  
(Odd. Seems rather quiet, even though it _is _early.)  
"Allrighty. Here we go." Gabe gave him a gentle push and he felt the wheels start to shift. Micah hurriedly caught up with their rotations, moving them forward with random thrusts of his hands. He felt a little sense of triumph  
(hey it's not that hard)  
before the little glide turned quite suddenly into a rocket. Hands from behind shot him faster down the hall, and the random doors that he was slowly passing turned into a brown-colored blur. Micah squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the air hit his face sharply, and resisted the urge to scream.  
"Hey!" he shouted and pulled his hands away. The wheels were moving so quickly now that he couldn't keep a hold of them. Micah cracked an eyelid and glimpsed a wall that was coming towards him much too fast for comfort. A sudden panic filled him  
(oh god I'm going to crash)  
before the same hands that had shoved him reached out, snagging the handles just in time to stop him before he went flying into the wall. There was a little giggle.  
"Oops. I didn't mean to push that hard." Micah whirled and glared at Gabe.  
"What are you trying to do; _kill _me?!" The girl blinked in surprise.  
"Oh, c'mon. It wasn't that bad." She dropped to a knee beside him. He repositioned the blanket over his legs  
_(stubs)_  
and kept scowling.  
"You weren't the one in the chair," he muttered. Gabe rolled her eyes but grinned, leaning closer.  
"Poor _bay_-bee," she crooned, fingers slipping up to tickle at his sides. He let out a surprised yelp and swatted at her hands.  
"Don't!"  
"All right, all right." Gabe stopped, but took his hand in hers and jiggled it gently. "C'mon. We need to get you back in bed before Pruitt catches us out here." Micah nodded, fighting a smile, and pulled his hand away.  
"M'kay." He took hold of the wheels again and swiveled around. "I'll lead the way. I think I've got it."  
"Good," she said, grunting as she stood. Micah wheeled himself carefully down the hall and glanced up at the numbers on the door. Gabe, trailing behind, called, "Remember, it's number 215."  
"Got it," he shouted back, counting the numbers as he passed.  
(209, 211, 213--)  
He stopped suddenly as his ears caught a soft sound; crying. Micah wheeled in reverse.  
"No, don't go in there--" Gabe picked up her pace, trying to stop him from looking into the room. That merely sparked his curiousity. Cautiously, he poked his head into the room.  
"Hello?" he said quietly, glancing around. It was just like his, just as pristine and white. There was a bed, a counter, an IV tube, and in the bed-- a small, huddled man, curled up in a ball and crying piteously. He looked old, probably 60, with white hair and a wrinkled face. Micah frowned slightly. "Hey, are you all right?" He could still hear Gabe calling faintly--  
"No, Micah, _don't_..."  
--but he wheeled farther into the room.  
"Do you need me to call a nurse, sir?" The man looked up and his face paled, eyes widening in shock and  
(no that can't be)  
terror.  
"Devil's child," he whispered, and Micah felt like he had been slapped.  
(He didn't just say that. He did _not _just say that.)  
"What?" the boy murmured in disbelief. The man scrambled back against the wall, tucking his knees beneath his chin.  
"Son of Satan," he hissed, age-worn eyes widening another notch. "Demon spawn! Straight from the pits of Hell, you are!" Micah swallowed dryly.  
"I don't know what you're--"  
"You're a murderer!" the man screeched. His eyes bulged as he continued screaming at the stricken Micah. "Slayer! Exectutioner! Assassin! Killer!" Micah pulled away frantically, hands slipping on the wheels. He couldn't cover his ears, but he wanted nothing more than to block out the man's shrieking.  
"Shut up, shut up!" Micah backed up right into a wall, and since there was no where else to go, he clamped his hands over his ears. "Shut up!"  
"Murderer!" screamed the man, face white as paper and bloodshot eyes bulging_. "Murderer! MURDERER!"_  
"Mr. Towers!" cried Gabe as she skidded into the room. Two other nurses followed her quickly, one holding the alleged Mr. Towers down as the other stuck him with a syringe. Gabe wrapped her arms around the shocked Micah.  
"Sh sh sh," she murmured, putting her forehead against his so he couldn't see the flailing old man. Micah let out a surprised little gasp and pressed his face into her shirt. He could hear the nurses--  
"Do you have him properly sedated, Gretchen?"  
--and Gabe--  
"Micah, it's all right..."  
--but the words of Mr. Towers still rang clearly in his ears.  
("Murderer!_ MURDERER!")_  
Gabe continued to whisper words of comfort and stroke his hair.  
"It's all right, Micah, it's all right-- oh, but I _warned _you..."  
"Gabrielle," said one of the nurses stiffly, "do you have everything under control?"  
"Oh, yes," Gabe replied in a voice just as tight. The other nurse whispered something.  
"Your patient is properly calmed, I believe." The pert comment made Gabe straighten and whirl; Micah watched as her lip curled ever so slightly.  
"So he is," she said quietly, but he could hear the pent-up rage. "Then we'll just mosey on back to his room, won't we?"  
"Indeed," muttered one of the nurses. Gabe grabbed the handles of Micah's wheelchair, turned him around, and pushed him quickly out of Mr. Towers' room.  
  
Once they were back in room 215, the door was swiftly and tightly shut.  
"Those _women_," Gabe said through clenched teeth, but her fingers were gently rubbing at Micah's shoulders. The shock of what had just happened was still very strong-- she was helping. Just a little.  
"Mm." Micah wheeled slowly over towards the bed, the girl trailing close behind. "That man-- Mr. Towers-- is he...?"  
"Crazy?" murmured Gabe, and she shook her head. "Nah. He's suffered a lot; lost his wife and grandchildren in a car accident. He's... under very stressful conditions." She kneaded gently at his shoulders, working loose the tension from his muscles. "Don't worry about it," she added in a softer voice. Micah shifted and frowned.  
"Are you sure? Because I think--" He stopped as her thumbs rubbed at a tense spot on his back. "--_ohh_. Mmn, that feels good."  
"You don't _need _to think about him." Gabe inched her fingers carefully up the back of his neck, murmuring softly in his ear. "I'm sorry I got you up so early. I should've waited a little later."  
"Mmn. No, it's all right," Micah mumbled as he let his head droop to rest against his chest. He _was _rather tired. Gabe smiled gently and kneaded at the back of his neck. Micah let out a slow breath of relaxation. "_Mmn_..."  
"Better?" she asked quietly, tilting her head to look him in the eyes. He cracked an eyelid and a small smile.  
"Mm hm."  
"Good." Gabe pulled her fingers away and slipped in front of him. "C'mon, I'm gonna pop you back in bed." He pursed his lips in aggravation.  
"But I was just getting comfortable," he complained, then stuck out his arms obediently. Gabe slid her own arms around Micah and heaved him from the chair, turning quickly and setting him on the mattress. It was an insult how easily she could pick him up, but he didn't object. It was his own fault that he was  
(crippled lame disabled mutilated freak freak _freak_)  
like this, not hers. Gabe grabbed the blankets and pulled them up to his chest, turning quickly.  
"I'm going to get you some water--" Micah, seizing the opportunity, snapped out a hand and grasped the waistband of her nurse's uniform.  
"Not so fast--" he began, then stopped as she came crashing back into the bed. Gabe yelped and landed on her back, nearly horizontal across his lap. They both blinked. Then Micah smirked. "Hm. That worked out better than I thought." Gabe snickered.  
"Smart ass." She heaved herself to a sitting position, but Micah just pulled her right back down again. "Hey!"  
"Seems you're stuck," he chuckled, poking her in the side. She yelped and sat up, but down she went.  
"Ack!" Gabe flailed for a moment, then mock-glared up at him. "Oh, the cruelty!"  
"I know. Try and live with it." Micah smiled to himself, leaning down to touch noses with her. She smirked gently and gave him a light kiss.  
"Much as I hate it, you sexy thing, you gotta let me up. What if--"  
"What is going _on _here?" demanded Nurse Edith. Gabe jerked immediately to a sitting position, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.  
"Ack-- Edith--" She scrambled to her feet. "I'm sorry, I slipped--" The older, plumper woman just stood in the doorway, arms full of clean sheets.  
"Mm hm." She scurried past Gabe, who had begun to look a little pale.  
"Really, Edith, I was--"  
"Don't explain, Gabrielle," Edith replied crisply. Gabe shot Micah a look, wringing her hands worriedly. He ducked his head as he blushed.  
(See what your hormones have done? Bad doggy. Bad.)  
"_Please_, you have to understand-- you _can't _tell Dr. Phillips--" Nurse Edith looked up.  
"Tell Dr. Phillips?" She chuckled a little and looked at Micah. "I wouldn't dream of it, dearie." Gabe blinked in surprise.  
"What?" she echoed dimly.  
"She said she wouldn't dream of it--" Micah repeated, and Gabe smacked him gently on the arm. Edith smiled and began unfolding the sheets.  
"Oh, George doesn't need to know everything that goes on around here." She grinned and winked at Micah. "Let him figure it out on his own, hm?"  
"Sure," Gabe said quickly, then turned back to Micah. She gave him a sideways smirk -- one that was obviously relieved -- and pulled up a chair beside his bed. "As long as Pruitt doesn't find out." Edith shook her head rapidly, shuddering.  
"Oh, no. That old witch would have you out of here quicker than you could blink." Gabe gave Micah a sidelong glance and grinned.  
"So Edith-- you're really doing this because of Pruitt, aren't you?" The older woman tried to smother a smile beneath her hand.  
"No, no, not at all," she said cheerily, unfolding another sheet. "To tell you the truth, the fact that I know something that Pruitt doesn't just tickles me pink." Micah just sat in silence as the two females talked back and forth, looking up for just a moment when Gabe slid her hand into his. He offered a smile  
(why does she even care?)  
which she readily returned.  
"Welp, I'd better go get your medicine." Gabe gave his hand a pat and stood.  
"Gabe, dear, I'm going with you. I need to pick up some more emergency sedatives for--" Edith was silenced with a black look from the girl.  
"Right. C'mon. Micah," she said, looking over her shoulder, "will you be all right by yourself?"  
"Sure thing." He made an impatient wave of his hand towards her. "Go on. The sooner you leave, the sooner you return." Gabe stuck her tongue out at him, then grinned and followed Edith out.  
  
Micah smirked after them, leaning back in bed.  
(Need some time to myself. Just a lone wolf kinda guy.)  
He yawned lazily as he straightened the blankets on the bed. Things hadn't been normal, not even close, but at least they were getting better.  
  
That was when he saw the lump at the end of his bed.  
  
He froze for a second, then realized that whatever it was, it was too small to be of any harm. Plus, it looked motionless. Micah hesitated before snapping off the sheets. He hated what he saw  
(no legs no legs)  
below the waist, but what he was really looking at was the thing at the end of his bed.  
  
It was a single cob of corn.  
  
That would've been bad enough, but to top it all off, someone had pinned on a picture of an angry Jesus with a red thumbtack. His normally kind eyes blazed, his friendly mouth was set in a terrible grimace. And, spread across the yellow kernels below Jesus in what looked like dried  
(blood?)  
ketchup, there were four small words:  
_  
Thou shalt not kill. _


	7. Very Wrong

--...I own Gabe and all nurses/doctors. Not Micah. Not the one that's important. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go sob for that very reason. ...heh, just joking. I still don't own CotC or the songs. Songs are property of the bands listed below them, CotC and Micah belong to that beautiful man known as Stephen King. Enjoy.--  
  
_The space between the tears we cry  
Is the laughter that keeps us coming back again  
The space between the wicked lies  
We tell and hope to keep safe from the pain  
Will I hold you again?  
_--from _The Space Between_ by the Dave Matthews Band_  
  
_He was still staring at it when Gabe returned with his medicine. She was reading the label, tapping at it with a finger.  
"Hm. Side effects, just a minor headache. That's not too--" Gabe halted in her tracks, spotting the hideous thing in his hands. Her face paled a little. "What's that?" she asked slowly.  
"I was hoping you would know." Micah looked up at her from beneath scowling black brows. The girl blinked at him in surprise.  
"What's that supposed to mean?" He tightened his grip around the cob of corn.  
"Come on, Gabe," he snapped. "Something's going on here! The crucifix, Mr. Towers-- this disgusting _thing_--" Micah emphasized these last words by heaving the ugly corn-Jesus at the wall. It hit with a sickening thud and rolled slowly across the floor.  
"I don't know why you're getting mad at me!" cried Gabe, hurrying over. "It's not like _I_ put it there!"  
"But there's _something _going on!" Micah glared up at her. The corn cob had struck a nerve with him, like someone poking a rather sore bruise. "It's so goddamned _obvious_, Gabe!" She had pulled up a chair next to the bed and was now slipping an arm around him.  
"C'mon, Micah. It's early, and you haven't had your medicine yet--" Micah snorted indignantly and pushed her away.  
"Stop talking to me like I'm four years old!" he cried. Gabe jerked backwards, looking wounded. Then she uncapped the bottle of medicine and poured some into a cup.  
"Drink this," she said quietly. Micah glared at her. The hurt look still in her eyes, Gabe pushed the cup gently at him. "Please." He considered it for a moment, then snatched the medicine and downed it quickly. Gabe smiled weakly and took the cup from him. "Thank you," she said, tossing the cup at the trashcan.  
"Mmph." Micah crossed his arms over his chest. Gabe sighed a little and slid an arm tentatively around him, almost as if she were afraid of the reaction.  
"Look, I'm sorry about what's been going on, and I'm trying to find out who's behind it." When he didn't jerk away, she nudged his face gently with his nose. "And until then, all we can do is wait. Okay?" Micah shot her a sidelong glance. She was smiling hopefully  
(you idiot she's just trying to help)  
and lightly stroking his arm. Giving in, he sighed and leaned against Gabe.  
"Sorry," he mumbled. Looking rather relieved, she gave him a gentle hug.  
"It's all right." Gabe snickered then and gave his neck a little kiss. "I don't like it when you get upset." Then she pulled away and ruffled his hair lightly. "Listen, I've got to go tend to some other patients. Nurse Pruitt's sick today, so I have to do half of her schedule." She looked over her shoulder at him. "I'll be back around lunchtime. Y' want me to bring you something?"  
(Anything's better than corn.)  
"Yeah, sure," he said absently. Gabe grinned.  
"Okay. I'll pick up something on my lunch break. Stay out of trouble until then, 'kay?"  
(I'm not finding trouble. It's finding me.)  
"Will do," he assured, flashing a smooth grin.  
(See through _this_, Little Miss Mind Reader.)  
Gabe winked and exited.  
  
Nurse Edith popped in later to change the sheets. Micah was placed back in his wheelchair and told with a grin that he was allowed to wander around. Seeing as he wasn't bored enough to watch the plump woman change the blankets on his bed, Micah took her suggestion and wheeled out of the room. On his way out, he calmly and carefully ran over the corn-cob Jesus, crushing it.  
  
(Heck, I'm getting the hang of this.)  
Micah coasted in silence down the white, pristine halls of the hospital. He did his best to be polite, smiling and nodding, but the nurses just acted like he was some kind of  
(freak is that it)  
slimy bug. He shrugged it off, figuring that that was how most nurses acted anyway, but he had the slight feeling that he was wrong. The nurses not only seemed to think he was a  
(freak that _is _itisn't it)  
disgusting insect, but they didn't want to keep their contempt to themselves. They whispered to other nurses, to doctors, to patients even. Micah began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. Reaching out a hand, he stopped a nurse by snagging her wrist.  
"Hey," he began quietly. The nurse's eyes became roughly the shape and size of dinner plates.  
"Let go of me," she whispered in a little voice. Micah raised his eyebrows and didn't obey.  
"Could you tell me where I could go to see the sun? I'd like to go outside for a little while." The nurse's eyes, if possible, grew a little wider. She shook her head slowly.  
"Oh no. No no no. You can't do that." Before he could ask questions, she had wiggled out of his grasp and seized his wheelchair. In a matter of moments, he had been returned to his room and dropped off like a package.  
  
He sat there, blinking, for a good thirty seconds before he wheeled sharply around.  
"Hey, what do you think you're--" But he was yelling at a closed door. Micah blinked again, then cursed hotly at the ground.  
(Something's not right here, and you know it.)  
The words chanted in his mind like a song, twirling and dancing.  
(Something's not riiiight here, you knoooow it...)  
"Shut up," he mumbled, and slowly pushed himself towards the bed. Nurse Edith had left, so he was alone with no way to get back into bed. He mulled over this misfortune for a moment before settling back in his wheelchair. "Wonder when Gabe'll be back," Micah muttered to himself, glancing at the clock. It flashed 7:27 obnoxiously, and he made a face at it.  
(Oh well. May as well sit back and get some sleep--)  
And again came that taunting song.  
(Something's not riiiiiight heeeeere...)  
Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Micah blocked out the thought and waited for sleep.  
  
_(oh god get me out of here)  
Rows of corn surrounded him.  
(no no no not again please no)  
They towered over him, tall and forbidding. He no longer cherished those stalks, oh no. He hated them. He hated them because he feared them.  
(I can't do this I can't I WON'T)  
The scythe rested heavily in his hands, waiting patiently. Everything was waiting. Waiting for him to make his move.  
(I WON'T DO THIS, YOU HEAR?!)  
But the figure before him, the shadow bound on the bed of corn stalks, was waiting as well. It shuddered and whimpered piteously, begging for him to let them go. This fear, this disgusting display of weakness, made him angry. He hid _his _emotions, damn it, why couldn't they?  
(Don't get angry, don't get angry--)  
He raised the scythe to stop their weakness. Because, of course, it must be stopped. The words left his lips before he was even aware--  
"Pray for forgiveness."  
--and he brought down the scythe.  
  
_Micah woke up suddenly-- no screams, no tears. Just an overwhelming sense of guilt and the scent of soy sauce.  
(Soy sauce?)  
He looked up and saw Gabe enter, arms full of white cartons and an apologetic smile on her face.  
"Hey," she said cheerfully, closing the door behind her. "Did I wake you up?"  
"No." Micah shook his head and looked curiously at the boxes she was holding. "What's that?" He held his arms out obediently as she quickly transferred him from the chair to the bed, then turned and seized a tray.  
"Edith drove me up to Wong's Express," Gabe told him as she placed four cartons of food on the tray before him. "I picked up some stuff, 'cause I wasn't sure what you liked."  
"Chinese food?" he said dully. She nodded emphatically.  
"Yeah, it's great! I love Oriental food. Now here--" Gabe began opening the cartons one by one. "--this is egg fu yung. This one's crab rangoon. This is just fried rice, and the last one is my favorite-- almond chicken." She smiled and produced two forks. "I've got a couple of egg rolls, too, so just dig in." Gabe didn't waste any more time; she poked into the carton of almond chicken and fished out what looked like a green bean. Micah made a face, but tentatively took an egg roll and bit into it.  
"Mm. Not bad." He took another careful bite, then popped the rest into his mouth. Gabe grinned at him.  
"See? Told ya."  
  
"Mmph. I'm full." The girl grimaced and pressed a hand to her stomach. "I shouldn't have eaten so much." Micah smirked, poking around in the rest of the egg fu yung.  
"I'll say. You inhaled three egg rolls."  
"Don't you start," Gabe warned. "I seem to recall that you downed four of those crab rangoons." She smiled and dragged a napkin over her mouth. "Eh, I better get this cleaned up. If any of the other nurses see this mess, they'll have my head." It hit him that suddenly.  
("Let go of me.")  
(looking at me like a freak)  
("Oh, no-- you can't do that!")  
(she was afraid no _terrified)_  
"Gabe--" he began. The girl paused, already gathering the cartons of food.  
"Hm?" Micah wiped his fingers on a napkin and looked up at her.  
"About the other nurses," he said slowly. Gabe tensed. "This morning, I went out into the hall. I asked someone for directions, because I wanted to go outside-- but she looked scared." He stopped, thinking this over, then let out a frustrated growl. "Oh, hell, Gabe-- she was petrified of me!"  
"I don't understand what you're saying," the girl murmured, lowering her eyes. This made him nervous; Micah reached up and grabbed at her arm.  
"Gabe, something's going on here. I don't like it. People, they don't look at me right--"  
"You're just imagining things." But she looked up anxiously, eyes meeting his for just a moment -- and that was all it took. It was almost as if things had been reversed  
(how do _you _like being looked through)  
and he were the one with all the answers.  
"You know, don't you?" he said quietly. Gabe swallowed thickly, busying herself with the discarded napkins.  
"Know what?" It was horrible; Micah had seen it in her face.  
"Why I'm in here." There was a long, terrible silence, and then she spoke.  
"Just the basics," she said in a small voice.  
"What kind of basics?" His voice held a tinge of coldness, but he didn't care. Gabe began twisting the dirty napkin nervously.  
"Well... I know that something went wrong in your town, there were murders... and there was something about corn... and that you were supposed to be behind it--" She saw his face tighten and hurriedly added, "But I never believed that! I knew that there was something wrong, but it wasn't your fault!"  
"The whole hospital knows," Micah said quietly. It was so obvious, why didn't he see it before? Gabe shook her head.  
"No, no, not the whole--"  
"Yes, the whole hospital!" He banged his fist down on the tray, making the cartons jump a little. "Gabe, the whole goddamned hospital knows that I'm a murderer!" The girl's eyes widened; she tossed away the napkin and started towards him.  
"No, that's not true!" Micah pushed her away. Hard.  
"Do you think I'm stupid?!" he cried. "I'm not! Do you think I haven't noticed how everyone looks at me, and the little surprises in my bed? I've noticed, Gabe! _ I've noticed!" _ Gabe stumbled backwards, her eyes large and wounded.  
"Micah--" The little voice interrupted her.  
(Don't get angry at her. It's not her fault.)  
And suddenly, there was that other voice, the one with the words like acid.  
(Yes it is. She lied to you, don't you remember? You asked her if something was wrong and she _lied_. But you knew, you _knew! _ You're much smarter than she thinks.)  
"You lied to me," he said softly. Gabe blinked.  
"What?" Micah glared at her from beneath black brows.  
"I told you. I told you that there was something wrong, and I asked you if I was right, and you said no-- you said no, everything was_ fine."_ His scowl deepened. "Everything's not fine, Gabe." The girl stared at him with large, unblinking blue eyes. She looked like she wanted to come forward and comfort him, but was afraid of another shove.  
(...and now she's afraid of you too...)  
"Micah," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything that's happened, but-- you can't change anything! I've been doing my part, I really have! I told everyone that you weren't like-- like they thought, but--"  
"You don't need to defend me," he muttered. Gabe's patience had been spent. Her eyes flashed dangerously.  
"No one else will," she whispered. Micah winced at the words, then looked up with a scowl.  
"Get out! I don't have to listen to this!" The girl let out an exasperated sigh and pushed away hair from her eyes.  
"What are you gonna do, get up and walk away?!"  
  
The room went silent.  
  
Gabe's face paled the moment the words left her lips. Her eyes widened as she pressed a hand against her mouth.  
"Oh-- oh my God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that, Micah--" The words hurt. They hurt more than he could've imagined. Worse than Mr. Towers' screaming accusation, worse than the corn-cob Jesus. His hands clenched the white sheets tightly.  
"Get out." Gabe shook her head.  
"No, really, I can't believe I said that--" Micah glared at her.  
"No, no! You're right. That's all I am, right? A legless, heartless, mindless son of Satan. A murderer." The girl shook her head again, slowly this time.  
"I didn't say that."  
"But that's what you meant!" he cried. Micah's voice had gotten high pitched, and that only added to his embarrassment and anger. "Get out." Gabe stared at him, looking hurt.  
"Micah--"  
_"GET OUT!"_ His fingers found the carton of almond chicken and he heaved it at the wall, where it hit and exploded in a flurry of rice and vegetables. Gabe didn't wait. She whirled and -- just like that -- she was out the door. Gone. Alone now, the full impact of what she had said  
("What are you gonna do, get up and walk away?!")  
and what he had done  
_("GET OUT!")_  
hit him. His hands flew to his face and Micah crumbled, the hot tears finally coming. He was alone, and there was no one to console him but the voice with incredibly awful advice. Micah waited for yet another pearl of wisdom, for the voice to give its opinion yet again.  
(It was your own fault, you know. You lost your head.)  
  
That was the worst, because he knew it was right. 


	8. Trouble With Pruitt

--BWA HA HA! I'M WRITING A CHILDREN OF THE CORN FIC AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME! ...ahem. Same as before... I own Gabe and Pruitt and all them fun people except for Micah. But if anyone wants to give me Micah, I'll be happy to accept him... Heh! Oh, and one more thing... the next chapter will take a while 'cause I'm going on vacation. Don't worry, I'll have it up soon. All right, on to the fic.--_  
  
Can you take me higher  
To a place where blind men see  
Can you take me higher  
To a place with golden streets  
_--from _Higher _by Creed_  
_  
_He raised the scythe again with a grunt. At least the pathetic whimpering had been stopped; he didn't want to, but it had to be done. He was suddenly curious; who had he slaughtered? He leaned forward and squinted at the now still form.  
(no no no dear god NO)  
He stumbled away, dropping the bloodstained scythe to the soft husk-littered earth.  
  
It was Gabe.  
  
Her throat had been jaggedly cut by the blade, and crimson blood stained her white nurse's uniform. Gabe's mouth was frozen in a scream of terror. Worst of all, the girl's blue eyes were wide open, staring at him. Tears still rested in their corners from when she had begged him for mercy. Now the eyes stared at him, accusing, hating.  
(You killed me.)  
He pressed his hands to his mouth, backing away.  
(You killed me, you murderer.)  
A strangled sob welled in his throat, but he forced it back down. Gabe stared up at him through the thin sheen of blood.  
(You killed me.)  
  
(!!NO!!)  
  
He covered his face with his arms, but her eyes still stared at him. Blue eyes that were filled with tears and blood.  
(I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry--)  
He grasped her hand, but it was cold and limp and dead.  
(I'm so sorry, Gabe, please--)  
And her eyes, doll's eyes, stared upwards. Cold and glassy. Dead.  
  
(!!NOT GABE!!)  
  
_Micah jolted back to reality, and this time, he did scream. He almost immediately clapped his hands to his eyes, trying to force back the awful vision of Gabe.  
(She was dead, and you killed her.)  
"No," he whimpered. "No, it was a dream. Just a dream. She's not dead, not really--"  
"Who's not dead?" The voice frightened him; it was sudden and close and horribly cold. He removed his hands from his eyes and was immensely relieved to see Gabe-- her throat intact, no blood, and perfectly normal eyes. She was standing by his bed and in the process of turning off his light. It was dark, aside from the dim glow of the lamp. It was such a beautiful relief, seeing her there, that Micah threw his arms around her.  
"Oh God, Gabe--" Her body tensed.  
"Mr. Balding, kindly take your hands off of me." The utter chill to her words made him wince, but he buried his face in her stomach.  
"Gabe, Gabe, I had this horrible nightmare--"  
"That's not my problem, Mr. Balding." Gabe pulled away harshly and began for the door. "As soon as I can speak to Dr. Phillips, you will be assigned another attendant." Micah stared at her with wide, dark eyes. His world -- or what was left of it -- was crumbling. It was crumbling before his eyes.  
"Gabe, no, don't--" The girl had walked away, leaving the light on, and was heading for the door.  
"Good night, Mr. Balding."  
(stop her stop her_ stop her!)_  
He prepared a shout to make her halt, a harsh yell or a barked order. Instead, Micah covered his face with his hands and began to cry.  
(oh you idiot stop that)  
It was an awful sound to his own ears, pitiful and weak. But he couldn't help it. The horror of the dream was mingling with the very real horror before him, and his already ragged nerves had been shattered. From behind the darkness of his hands, Micah heard Gabe turn on her heel.  
"Oh... oh my God, Micah, no, don't cry--" Arms slid gently around him as she continued talking, her own voice close to tears. "Don't cry, I'm so sorry, _please _don't cry--" He turned his face into her and hiccupped through his tears.  
"It was horrible, it was _you_, and you were dead--" Micah sobbed and tried to force back the terrifying image. "Your throat was--"  
"Sh," Gabe said in a quiet voice, holding him tightly. It suddenly hit him-- he had been forgiven.  
(Not like you deserve it.)  
"I'm so sorry," he whimpered. "For everything, for everything I did... I'm _so _sorry..." She laughed softly and ran a hand through his hair.  
"Me too, Micah. Now quiet. Everything's fine." Gabe rocked him gently, waiting for the fear to leave his body.  
(Gabe's alive, Gabe's forgiven you, and everything's fine.)  
He looked up through eyefuls of tears and sniffed.  
"No, something's wrong," he said quietly. The girl blinked and pushed his hair back from his forehead.  
"What makes you say that?" Micah sniffed again, dragging a hand over his eyes.  
"Don't lie," he mumbled. "Something's wrong." Gabe stared at him, brows twisting into a frown, then pressed a light kiss against his forehead.  
"Okay. There's a problem." He shifted a little and waited for her to continue. There was a long pause, then she sighed in frustration. "You see, I was really upset earlier, and I already spoke to Dr. Phillips. He was upset that I bothered him with such silly things, but he said he'd move me to another patient tomorrow. He also said that any more problems and he'd move me to the unemployment line." Micah sat up as straight as he could.  
"What are you saying?" he asked in a voice that sounded too panicked to be his. Gabe winced and ran a hand through her hair.  
"I'm not your attendant anymore, Micah. Pruitt is." He pulled away quickly, eyes wide.  
"No, that's not fair!"  
"I know it's not!" cried Gabe, taking his shoulders firmly. "But I can't do anything about it! I promise, I'll drop by whenever I can--"  
"Pruitt'll kill me!" Micah knew he was acting like a child -- but _hell_, it was late, he was tired, and this _wasn't fair..._ "You can't leave, Gabe!" Humoring him, she kneaded at his shoulders gently.  
"You make it seem like I'm being transferred to another hospital. Micah, I'll be just down the hall." He let out a little sigh of defeat and slumped down.  
"Promise?" he mumbled. Gabe leaned forward and kissed his forehead tenderly.  
"Promise." She smiled and gently ruffled his hair. "It's almost midnight, Micah. Go to sleep."  
(Gabe lying there dead in her own blood)  
"I can't," he croaked, fingers grasping her sleeves desperately. "I can't, I can't, I'll have another dream--" Gabe saw his panic and pulled him to her again.  
"All right. All right. Don't sleep." She kneaded the back of his neck and frowned thoughtfully. "Would it help if I stayed with you for a while?"  
(No, because I'm a weak stupid frightened little bastard who can't even--)  
"Yeah," Micah admitted weakly. Gabe pulled away to turn off the light, then wrapped her arms around him again.  
"Okay. Okay." She whispered to him a while longer, stroking his hair and murmuring words of comfort. It didn't even matter what she was saying after a while, because she was just there, she was there _with _him. Finally, Micah drifted off in the dark  
(Gabe's not dead she's here and she _loves _me)  
and fell into a reluctant sleep. He didn't dream.  
  
He woke up to a hand being pressed against his forehead. The night's rest had done him well, as Gabe said it would, and he felt infinitely better. Micah smiled and leaned into the fingers, not noticing how they were much too bony and about forty years too old.  
"Mmph. Morning, sexy."  
_"Excuse_ me, Mr. Balding?"  
(Pruitt it's Pruitt you moron)  
His eyes snapped open. Well, naturally, it _was _Pruitt, her beady little eyes surprised for once. Micah felt a hot flush creep over his cheeks.  
"I-- Sorry, Nurse Pruitt," he mumbled, lowering his head to hide his embarrassment. She remained flustered for a moment, then pulled away and bustled towards the cabinet.  
"Mm hm." Pruitt snatched the clipboard that Gabe had used and jotted something on it. "Temperature normal." Without looking up, she clapped her hands sharply. Micah jumped.  
"What was that--"  
"Stimulus normal. Physical features--" Now she glanced at him, squinting carefully. Pruitt didn't look through him, she looked _at _him, her eyes hard and gleaming. He didn't like it. "--still rather pale."  
(I'm pale _all _the time, you ignorant bitch.)  
"Who are you talking to?" Micah said sharply, voice dripping sarcasm. Pruitt leered.  
"I'm recording your current conditions, Mr. Balding. Your former attendant didn't do so, and I am picking up her mess." He felt an unexpected flare of anger.  
"Gabe didn't leave a mess," he said quietly. "She did just fine." Pruitt's lips twitched into an ugly, pursed smile.  
"I see." The tone of her voice told Micah that she didn't. "Well, at any rate, I'm in charge now." That simple statement caused another pang of sudden resentment. He clasped his hands calmly in his lap and stared at the back of Pruitt's head.  
"Nurse Pruitt," he said in a voice with forced gentleness, "did you put a crucifix in my bed?" The nurse paused, in the process of recording more "conditions".  
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Balding."  
"Sure you do," Micah insisted, not quite gentle this time. "It was a little plastic thing, a cross, Jesus nailed to it? Quite charming." Pruitt looked up and forced a tight-lipped smile.  
"I merely put it there for spiritual purposes." He stared steadily at her.  
"Mm. Indeed. And the Jesus made out of a corn cob? And sending the priest into the wrong room? Were those for spiritual purposes too?" The older woman's lips thinned a little more.  
"I don't know what you're--"  
"Can't you get _fired _for that?" Micah asked slowly, voice cold and hard. He knew she had put it there, just _knew _it. Pruitt knew it too, but she had something else up her sleeve. She approached the bed and leaned threateningly close to Micah's face.  
"Just as a nurse can get fired for having a relationship with a patient." His throat suddenly felt made of cotton, dry and scratchy.  
(How could she know? _ How?)_  
"What makes you say that?" he asked in a voice he hoped was nonchalant. It didn't fool Pruitt.  
"Here's how it works, Mr. Balding: you keep the spiritual enlightenment to yourself and I don't tell Dr. Phillips about that blasphemous girl. Got it?" Her face had gone very hard, very tight, the corners of her mouth twitched into a sneer. Micah swallowed.  
"Gabe's not blasphemous," he whispered. "She's--"  
"I don't care," hissed Pruitt. "God did not intend for the blasphemous to sin with the murderous." He jerked back as if hit in the face. Anger filled him, hot and racing, and he forgot about Gabe's job.  
"Take that back." Pruitt's eyes gleamed; she had hit a nerve, and she knew it.  
"Don't test me, you little sinner," she said venomously. "I'll turn in your precious Gabrielle faster than you can blink." Smirking, she turned and headed for the door. Micah clenched his hands and spat after her,  
"Take it_ back!"_ Pruitt gave him another thin smile.  
"You know, she was named after God's angel Gabriel," she mused. The elder nurse opened the door and snorted into her hand. "Some angel." The anger turned white-hot.  
_"TAKE IT--"_ But Pruitt had already left, shutting the door tightly behind her. Micah stared after her, chest heaving with forced self-control. He had never felt so mad before; no one had ever pushed his buttons like that --  
(except)  
-- except his father.  
("Dirty, filthy, sinning little mongrel.")  
("...for the blasphemous to sin with the murderous.")  
Micah shuddered at the similarity, his anger fading away to a cold dread. How had she known about Gabe?  
(She can't know. There's no way.)  
(But she _does _know!)  
He put his hands to his forehead and groaned. Every time things turned out right, they went straight into another pile of shit.  
(I want to talk to Gabe.)  
But what he really wanted was for this to all be over-- to be someplace where he still had legs, where Pruitt left him alone, where Gabe was with him all the time.  
(She _is _an angel, really. No matter what that bitch says.)  
  
Someplace without corn.  



	9. Sleeping Innocence

--Nope, I haven't been distracted by anything shiny yet -- I'm still writing! We're nearing the end, folks, I'll tell you that right now. And I STILL don't own Micah or CotC. But I _do _own Gabe, and you all seem to like her just fine! Heh. All righty, my little readers, enjoy -- but please, REVIEW! I could use all the feedback I can get!--  
  
_Just hold me  
Forget about time  
Just hold me  
I think I'm losing my mind_  
--from _Kiss Me There_ by Jo Davidson  
  
After trying to sleep, Micah gave up and just lay in bed. He was sure that Pruitt was purposely trying to keep him awake, banging things on the counter and slamming shut cabinet doors. He just squeezed his eyes shut and blocked her out. Micah could feel himself drifting off into a light sleep when the door opened, then closed sharply. His patience had already been spent, so he pulled the covers over his head and growled,  
"Damn it, why won't you just leave me alone?!"  
_"Excuse_ me?"  
(Gabe it's Gabe you moron)  
He poked his head out from under the blankets. Well, of course, it _was _Gabe, eyes large and unblinking. Micah smiled a little.  
"Sorry. I thought you were Pruitt."  
(I've really got to start looking before I greet visitors.)  
Gabe grinned and crossed over to the bed.  
"I think I should be insulted," she said, tousling his hair playfully. Micah snickered and ducked away.  
"Thank God you're here. Pruitt's been a royal pain in the ass all morning."  
"Well, you're in luck." Gabe pulled up a chair and sat. "She left early. Said she was feeling ill."  
(blasphemous girl)  
"Gabe!" he cried suddenly, grabbing her arm. She blinked.  
"What?"  
"She knows!" Micah tightened his grip and shook her arm lightly. "She knows about us! I told her that I knew she was doing those things to me, and she said that she knows about us too!" Gabe's eyes widened.  
"She... _what?"_ He let out a frustrated sigh, but she stopped him with a shake of the head. "No, I heard you. But how does she--"  
"I don't know," he said quickly. It was very distressing -- questions everywhere, and all the answers were hiding. Micah let go of her arm and covered his face with his hands. "I don't know, I don't know, _I don't know..." _Gabe put a hand against his neck, her thumb stroking the skin there lightly.  
"Quiet," she murmured. "Quiet, quiet. Don't worry about that right now-- she's gone for a while, so we can buy some time." Micah lowered his hands and cocked an eyebrow at her.  
"Buy time to what?"  
"Figure this out." Gabe's fingers moved to the back of his neck. "And I promise, we _will _figure this out. Did she say anything else?" He closed his eyes and sighed quietly.  
"Mmn. She said that if I didn't tell Dr. Phillips about her 'spiritual enlightenments', she wouldn't tell him about us." Micah grunted a little, shifting into her touch. "Mmn. A little to the left, please." She snickered and obeyed.  
"What am I, your personal masseuse?"  
"Damn straight," he retorted, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Gabe kept kneading the back of his neck.  
"Okay, so Pruitt said she wouldn't tell if you didn't. That's good, but if I know Pruitt, she'll find a way to ruin us and keep herself safe." She inched her fingers into his hairline, which earned a little sigh of comfort from Micah.  
_"Mmn." _ The girl smiled and pressed a light kiss against his cheek.  
"You sound _so _worried," she murmured with a grin. He cracked an eyelid at her.  
"You're not helping any," Micah snickered. Gabe pulled her hand away and tweaked his nose.  
"Hmph. Ingrate." He opened his mouth to say something and yawned instead.  
(Sleepy. Hm.)  
The girl sighed sympathetically and pushed his hair back from his forehead. "You're tired, Micah. Sleep." He peered at her through heavy eyelids.  
"Since when have I ever listened to you?" But he yawned again, and Gabe's mind was made up.  
"Start now," she said firmly. Then she paused. "Hey, scoot over."  
"Why?" Micah arched an eyebrow at her.  
"Because I _said _so." Gabe pushed his arm gently. "Scoot _over_." He obeyed quickly, leaving a rather large space in the bed.  
(Wow, am I really that skinny?)  
Wordlessly, Gabe slid into the opening and nestled beside him. Micah blinked.  
"Oh." Then, after a moment's hesitation, he slipped an arm around her.  
"Able to sleep now?" she murmured, pushing black hair away from his face. Micah nodded and gave her a tired smile.  
"Thank you," he mumbled. Gabe kissed his cheek gently.  
"Any time, Micah. Now go to sleep." He squinted at her, then sighed and leaned his head on her shoulder.  
"Okay. Okay." Carefully, she leaned over and turned off the light. The room was plunged into darkness and silence.  
(tell her you love her)  
"I'll only be here a little while," she said quietly. He nodded, the movement of his head muted against her shoulder.  
"Mm hm."  
(tell her you love her tell her you twit)  
"Sleep well, Micah." Gabe went silent.  
(tell her tell her_ tell her)_  
" 'Night," he whispered, and then silence reigned supreme.  
  
The light hit his eyes harshly, making Micah wince and groan. It was one of those nights where you barely close your eyes before the morning is there, and he wasn't ready to wake up yet.  
(Get up, you lazy little bugger.)  
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking to adjust them to the light. Micah blinked once, twice, then noticed the girl that was nestled gently against him. He smiled and buried his nose in her hair.  
"Mmn. Morning, Ga--" Then it hit him.  
(Oh my God, she's still here!)  
He yelped in surprise and shook Gabe by the shoulders.  
"Gabe, Gabe, wake up!" She snorted, then opened her eyes groggily.  
"Mmph. What time is it?" A hand was raised to rub at her forehead. Micah shook her again.  
"It's morning, Gabe! You fell asleep and you were here _all night!"_ Now her eyes snapped wide open.  
"I _what?"_ Gabe scrambled to her feet, nearly falling out of bed in the process. "Oh my God! I-- I didn't even go home-- and what if someone saw--"  
"Hey, calm down!" Micah reached out and grabbed her wrist. She turned her glance to him, and for a moment she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. A bit unnerved by that, he stroked her hand gently with his thumb. "If someone saw, someone saw. I don't think so, because we would've been woken up. And as for going home-- just tell your parents you got caught in the graveyard shift."  
(God. Where did this sudden burst of rational thought come from?)  
Gabe took a deep breath, then frowned at him.  
"Wait-- didn't you know?" Micah blinked a little.  
"Know what?" he asked slowly. Her brow furrowed in thought.  
"I didn't tell you?" It sounded like a question, but Gabe went on. "I live with Edith, Micah." He blinked again  
(She lives with Edith?)  
before giving a faint shrug of his shoulders.  
"Oh." Then Micah picked up the original subject -- the fact that she had fallen asleep right there in his room. "Well, that's one less worry. Anyway, don't panic. Just... relax." Having remembered the predicament, Gabe paused and nodded in agreement.   
"Right. Right." She gave him a weak smile. "Okay." The girl pulled away and popped her head out the door. "No one's coming. Good." Gabe turned and tried to smooth out her hair with a hand.  
"Your hair should be the least of your worries," Micah murmured. It wasn't meant to be funny, but apparently it was, because Gabe broke down into a fit of nearly hysterical giggles. He half-smirked at this before feeling a little twinge of nervousness.  
(She looks like she's crying and laughing at the same time. Isn't that a sign of insanity?)  
(You would know, wouldn't you?)  
Micah snatched her hand in his.  
"Gabe, Gabe," he murmured in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "Calm down." She hiccupped through her hysterics and smiled shakily at him.  
"I'm all right. Really." Another nervous giggle escaped Gabe before she clapped a hand over her mouth. Micah stared at her solemnly, unconsciously lacing their fingers.  
"You sure?" She nodded, gripping his hand gently.  
"Mm hm." Gabe slid her fingers away and lightly ruffled his hair. "Fine. Just fine." Micah covered a small smile with his hand.  
"Good. Because I imagine you should attend your patients pretty soon?" The girl paused, then slapped her forehead.  
"Ack, of course! I gotta go, Micah--" She whirled, beginning for the door, and stopped. Gabe turned and dashed back to the bed. Before he could even say anything, she had pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and rushed towards the door. "I promise, I'll be back later. Lunchtime, maybe?"  
"Maybe," he said, smiling a little. She shot him a quick grin and was out the door.  
"See you!"  
"See you," Micah echoed. The door closed, and it was a mere two minutes and five seconds before Pruitt walked in. Tucked under her arm were Micah's medical charts, a small bag, and an incredibly thick copy of the Bible.  
  
She smiled thinly as she entered.  
"Good morning, Mr. Balding." Micah scowled and eyed the objects she was carrying.  
"What goodies have you got for me today?" he muttered. Pruitt dropped her possessions on the bed, where they hit the sheets and bounced a little.  
"You'll see," she said in a voice that was calm enough, but still mildly unnerving. The nurse deposited the charts where they belonged, set aside the bag, and picked up the Bible with another tight smile plastered on her face. "We're going to pray."  
(The old bag's nuts!)  
"We're going to... what?" Micah eyed the Bible warily. Pruitt made an odd clucking noise with her tongue and opened the book.  
"Heavens, Mr. Balding. I'd think that even _you _would be familiar with praying to God." The acid in her voice made that anger in him bubble again, but he pushed it away.  
"I'm familiar with praying to God," he muttered quietly, watching her flip through the gold-edged pages. "but I don't normally pray with religious lunatics who're holding me hostage--"  
"Watch yourself, Mr. Balding," Pruitt said mildly, running a bony finger over the words. "Ah, here we are. Shall we start with the Ten Commandments?" The thin smile was on her face again, the one that made Micah angry and nervous at the same time. "Thou shalt not--"  
"Use my name in vain. Have any other gods besides me. Covet thy neighbor's wife. Commit adultery." He smirked up at the surprised look that Pruitt had donned. "Hm. Two of them are about hitting the sack, and they couldn't fit in anything about 'thou shalt not blackmail'?" The nurse recovered quickly and sneered at him.  
"You forgot a few. Thou shalt not kill, for example." Another hot rush of anger swept through him.  
"_You _watch yourself," Micah said quietly. Pruitt raised a mousy eyebrow at him.  
"Why should I, Mr. Balding? I know you wouldn't let anything happen to your sinful little girlfriend--"  
"Because," he said slowly, clenching his fists to suppress the rage, "I might get to breaking a few of those commandments." Micah smiled his own too-small smile at her. "And I promise you, it won't be adultery." Pruitt hardly blinked, but there was a distinct flicker of nervousness in her manner.  
"Oh? I don't think you--"  
"Have the guts?" he finished pleasantly. "Ask yourself that question, Nurse Pruitt. Did I have the guts back in Gatlin?"  
(Hah, that oughta get her, the meddling wench!)  
She stared at him, showing no other signs of anxiety -- until Micah realized that she was clutching the Bible hard enough to turn her skinny fingers white.  
"Let's begin with a prayer, Mr. Balding," Pruitt said in a quiet voice. He scowled, anger racing through his blood, and sat forward.  
"Listen here, you self-righteous old--" Just then, Gabe poked her head into the room.  
"Micah--" She blinked in surprise. "Oh. Oops. Sorry 'bout that, Nurse Pruitt." Micah turned to look at her and bells went off in his head.  
(Think about Gabe. Think about Gabe, you selfish bastard.)  
"No problem," Pruitt said calmly, eyes glittering. "Right, Mr. Balding?" She shot Micah a look, who returned it with the blackest glare he could manage.  
"No. No problem at all, Gabe." He forced a reassuring smile to his lips. Gabe nodded a little.  
"Okay, I'll... talk to you later?" she said in a small voice.  
"We'll see." Pruitt answered for him, rekindling the hot embers of anger, but the sight of Gabe's worried face stopped it from bursting into flame.  
"See ya," he said quietly. The girl nodded, shot Pruitt a look, and disappeared back into the hall.  
  
Pruitt turned her beady eyes back on Micah.  
"Well, Mr. Balding?" Her voice was quiet enough, but the venom behind it couldn't be disguised. "Shall we begin with a prayer?" He tore his gaze from the door to her.  
(I hate you I hate you idiotic high-and-mighty bitch)  
"Certainly," Micah murmured, biting back the words that needed to be said. Pruitt nodded, smiled again, and looked down at the gilded Bible.  
"Our father--" she began, and glanced at him expectantly.  
(stupid stupid _stupid _holier-than-thou BITCH)  
He clenched his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and continued the prayer.  
"Who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven." Pruitt nodded, smirking.  
"Good. Good." 


	10. In the Eyes of God

--Nearly done! ...and I still don't own Micah or CotC. Gabe's still mine, along with... all those other people. Eh. Surprisingly, I don't have much to say in this disclaimer. Looking for something witty? Go read another one. Leave me alone. I'm tired... I don't have to be amusing!--_  
  
Pinch me  
Pinch me  
'Cause I'm still  
Asleep  
Please God  
Tell me  
That I'm still asleep  
--_from _Pinch Me _by the Barenaked Ladies_  
_  
There was a good hour and a half of preaching before Pruitt was called to another room. She set aside the Bible and told Micah with a thin smile that she'd be back later. He sneered and said he couldn't wait. Shortly after, Gabe returned with a few Big Macs and some french fries. Micah thought he'd never be happier to see greasy fast food.  
"I'm back," she said cheerfully, presenting the food with a flourish. He smiled in relief.  
"Thank God," he mumbled. Gabe, already pulling up a chair, looked up questioningly.  
"Hm?"  
"Nothing." Micah took one of the burgers eagerly and unwrapped it. "Figured out what to do about Pruitt yet?"  
"Not yet," she said through a mouthful of Big Mac. He frowned and took a bite.  
"Damn. You know what Pruitt was doing when you came in?" Gabe shook her head silently. "She was making me pray. She was _forcing _me to pray." Her eyes widened.  
"She was what?" Micah took another bite of burger, deciding he liked the taste.  
"First she started preaching about the Ten Commandments, then she went on to 'Our Father'." Gabe swallowed and frowned.  
"Sorry," she mumbled, looking down. He raised his eyebrows.  
"For what? It's not your fau--"  
"Yes it is!" The girl set aside her sandwich in disgust. Micah set his down as well, opening his mouth to say something, but Gabe went on. "It's entirely my fault. I should've never--"  
"Hey," he said quietly, taking her hand. "Hey. That's not fair. It's not your fault, it's Pruitt's.  
(and mine)  
And I don't want you putting the blame on yourself." She nodded a little, but didn't meet his eyes.  
"Right," Gabe muttered. Micah frowned and shook her hand lightly.  
"I'm serious!" The girl's blue eyes flicked up to him momentarily. Then she smiled.  
"All right. All right." She squeezed his hand a little and picked up her burger. "Sorry. I got a little... frustrated, that's all."  
"Gotcha," he murmured, grabbing a fry. They finished lunch quickly, and with minimal conversation. The same thing was on both their minds -- and more important than small talk.  
  
Gabe threw away the wrappers and fry boxes. She hurriedly kissed Micah and told him goodbye; she had things to attend to. She also promised she'd be back later -- and with an answer to their Pruit problem.  
  
Edith came in a while later.  
"Sorry, dearie," she said cheerfully. "Pruitt went home early."  
(I'm so upset. Listen to me cry.)  
"Oh. What for?" Micah tried to contain a smile.  
"She said she was feeling ill." Nurse Edith hurried over to the cabinet and retrieved his medicine. "Dr. Phillips is gettng worried. She keeps leaving early, and he's afraid she's really come down with something."  
(The world would mourn if Pruitt contracted some deadly virus.)  
"I'm worried too," he mumbled, doing his best to keep a straight face. The nurse shrugged and spooned out his medicine.  
"That's sweet. Here, eat this." She held it out towards him. Micah took it and swallowed quickly.  
"No problem." He blinked a little, then burped. "Ooh. Sorry." He leaned back against the pillow and nestled into it. Edith smiled and turned to put away the bottle.  
"Oh, by the way, it'll make you a bit sleepy--" But Micah had already drifted into a light sleep, snoring quietly. Nurse Edith covered a chuckle with her hand. "Hm. Nevermind." She smiled and returned to the cabinets, unaware that Micah would sleep for the next twelve hours.  
  
Gabe rushed in around 10:30 that night.  
"Edith, he's still not awake?" She darted to his bed, blue eyes taking in the pale, still form.  
"No," Edith murmured. Her brows knitted in concern as she watched Gabe. "Honey, don't--"  
"Micah!" Gabe took his shoulders and shook him, looking more than a little nervous. "Micah, wake up! Don't _do _this, Micah--" Nurse Edith placed a hand gently on the girl's back.  
"Gabe, dear--" Gabe leaned closer to Micah's pale face.  
"Please, you have to wake up!" The elder nurse shook her head.  
"Don't worry, honey. He's fine." Gabe whirled and scowled at her.  
"Fine?_ Fine?!_ He's lapsed back into the coma, Edith! _He's not fine!" _ But then her face crumbled and she covered it with her hands to conceal the tears. Edith clucked her tongue and hugged her gently.  
"Come on, Gabrielle. I'm taking you home."  
"No," Gabe managed through sobs, "no, I have to stay here--"  
"You can't do anything for him when you're like this." Edith put an arm around her shoulder and lead her to the door. "I'll drop you off and come right back, okay?" Gabe dragged a hand over her eyes, trying to regain composure.  
"You'll call? You'll call as soon as he wakes up?" The elder nurse smiled and nodded.  
"I'll call. I promise." Gabe paused, looked over her shoulder, and let out a shaky sigh.  
"All right," she mumbled. "All right, I'll go." She and Edith walked slowly out into the hall, leaving Micah alone in the hospital room. He was still asleep.  
  
_The corn before him had been spread to make a passage. It was almost as if Moses himself had been there, parting the normally neat and trim stalks like the Red Sea. It was quite obvious that someone wanted him to go through, to follow the dirt-beaten path, so he did. He walked along in silence, dread gnawing at his stomach. And then he saw the scarecrow.  
  
It shouldn't have been scary, not really -- and yet it was. It was just clothes hung on posts, a barley bag for a head, but it looked... wrong. Spindly, starved, and the eyes -- just holes in the bag -- looked hollow and dark. It _was _scary, even though it wasn't supposed to be. Then he blinked. The eyes weren't holes anymore, no longer empty and black. They were blue and clear.  
  
Gabe's eyes.  
  
He opened his mouth to scream when the scarecrow looked at him.  
"You have to wake up," it told him calmly. He didn't understand how it could talk -- its mouth was just a rip in its barley bag head -- but it was talking anyway. "You have to wake up. You're in great danger." This was emphasized by a soft sound, a stalk of corn falling. Something was cutting it down... what, though?  
"What kind of danger?" he asked slowly. The gnawing dread had turned into fear that twisted his stomach into painful knots. Gabe's eyes stared down at him.  
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that you _are _in danger, and that you have to wake up." He shifted uncomfortably beneath the blue-eyed gaze.  
"But I don't think--"  
"You're not thinking very well, apparently," snapped the scarecrow. Another stalk of corn fell, then it seemed to soften a little. "Look, you need to wake up. Really." It spoke remarkably like Gabe, with the same bold stubbornness, and for some reason that sparked a flame of anger in him.  
"I'm not going to do what you say until you tell me why I need to wake up!" And suddenly, the image flickered. It wasn't a scarecrow for one long moment -- it was Gabe, hung on the posts like some horrid representation of the crucifix. His breath caught in his throat until it was just a scarecrow again.  
"Micah," it murmured through bag-rip lips, "Micah, my Micah. You have to wake up."  
"Why?" He stamped the ground in frustration, angry again. "Why, why, _why?"_  
"Trust me." That was spoken with a cold sort of certainty, and there was Gabe again, a horrible female Jesus. Then the scarecrow returned.  
"Just tell me, please!" The corn was falling at a regular pace now; one-two-three, one-two-three... He wasn't mad anymore, just upset and frustrated and terribly, terribly frightened. "Please, tell me!"  
"Wake up, Micah." The image flickered once more. Gabe was hanging there again, hands and feet nailed to the posts, a horrifying life-sized crucifix. This time, she didn't disappear.  
"No!" He waited for the scarecrow to return. It didn't. He waited for Gabe to say something. She said nothing. Her eyes, still blue, stared upwards at the heavens. They didn't blink. "No, you have to tell me! Please, tell me what's going to happen!"  
  
One-two-three, one-two-three...  
  
"COME BACK!" He lunged at the crucified Gabe, seeking comfort in a body that was clearly dead. "NO, COME BACK, TELL ME WHAT TO DO!"  
  
"...wake up..."_  
  
Micah awoke with a gasp, clutching the blankets beneath him in fright. He paused, realized where he was, and sighed heavily.  
"Oh, God," he muttered, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. It was dark, very dark, and he didn't know how long he'd been sleeping. But judging from the headache he had and how heavy his eyelids were, it had to have been a long time. Micah glanced around the darkened room and felt an unexpected twinge of fear.  
(where is everyone)  
"Hello?" he said tentatively, eyes trying to adjust to the blackness. There was no answer. He opened his mouth to try again and stopped abruptly.  
  
Pruitt was in the doorway.  
  
It was Pruitt, and yet it wasn't. She wasn't wearing her ever-present nurse's uniform, but a white robe that looked like it belonged in someone's attic beneath a pile of old photo albums. Her mousy graying hair was in straggly strands on her shoulders instead of in her usual tight bun. She was holding the huge Bible, the small bag, and a candle.  
"Nice to see you awake, Mr. Balding," she said crisply. Micah blinked in surprise at this ghostly-looking woman as she dumped her possessions on the bed.  
"What do you mean?"  
"You've been asleep for the past 12 hours." She smiled and turned to the cabinets, from which she produced a silver bowl of water. "A little sleepy, hm?" He frowned.  
"How would you--"  
"Know?" Pruitt set aside the bowl and picked up the Bible. "Think about it, dearie." Thoughts were fuzzy in his sleep-blurred head, but Micah figured it out.  
"You put something in my medicine," he said incredulously. The elder nurse smiled again.  
"Correct! I'm proud."  
(Something is very wrong here.)  
Micah glanced around nervously.  
"It's so quiet," he mumbled, almost to himself. "There should be someone else here--" Pruitt raised her eyebrows, looking a little surprised.  
"Well, of course there's someone here. Right over there. We need a witness for the baptismal, after all." Her last words would've startled him, but it was what she waved the candle at that shocked him into silence. Edith lay against the wall, head dangling limply on her chest. A syringe was stuck in her arm, one that Micah recognized as what had been used on Mr. Towers. His mouth flapped.  
"What did you--" She waved a hand impatiently at him.  
"Shut up," Pruitt snapped. "We need to get on with it." A bony finger was pointed at the bowl of water. Now the words she had said before hit him, and Micah tore his gaze from the unconcious Edith to look at Pruitt.  
"Baptismal?" She heaved a frustrated sigh and rolled her eyes.  
"Yes, that's what I said. Come, now. We're going to baptise you, and then cleanse you of your sins." Pruitt smiled that tight, thin little smile. "We're going to make you acceptable in the eyes of God." He stared up at her  
(she's crazier than I thought)  
and swallowed. He was supposed to be brave at this point, he knew that, but fear was there nonetheless.  
"And just how are we going to do that?" asked Micah quietly. Pruitt seized the bag.  
"I'm glad you asked." She dumped the contents on the bedspread, inches from his non-existent legs. There was a gold-plated crucifix, a bottle of liquid (holy water, he assumed), a few more candles, a book of matches, and two knives. One with a cross on the handle, the other a silver angel. "We're going to have such a fun night!" Micah gaped at her, trying to contain the fear that was swallowing him up.  
"You're not serious."  
"Oh?" Pruitt asked calmly. "What makes you say that?" Ignoring the question, he swallowed thickly and countered with his own.  
"How are you going to make me acceptable in the eyes of God?" She began arranging the items neatly on the bed.  
"Well, like I said, we're going to baptise you. And, my dear, I'm afraid that you've already tainted your soul in this life. So, with a prayer, we're going to try again."  
(Try again?)  
Before he could ask, she was babbling on.  
"We're going to give you another chance. Perhaps you'll start over again, or perhaps you'll go to Hell. Either way..." She shrugged as if she were commenting on the weather. "...we'll really be doing you a favor." Micah glanced about madly. This was serious. Much more serious than the priest, Mr. Towers, and the nervous nurses all put together. He could  
(she's planning to kill me)  
be severely hurt, or  
_(she's planning to kill me)_  
something worse.  
"Nurse Pruitt," he said slowly, hoping his voice wasn't shaking, "you don't know what you're doing." Pruitt looked up, her eyes glittering, and what was there frightened him. Below the crazy gleam was a glint of sanity.  
"I know _exactly _what I'm doing," she replied stonily. She grabbed the Bible again, glared at him, and opened the book. "We're going to cleanse Satan's dirt from you, no matter what it takes."  
  
Pruitt looked upwards.  
"Lord, please bestow forgiveness upon this lost soul. He has strayed from the path of righteousness, but your gentle hand can lead him back." She seized the crucifix and held it before Micah, close enough that he could see the crown of thorns on Jesus' head. "Save this lost sheep! Cleanse him of Satan's mark and make him pure again!" He looked about desperately for an escape and saw nothing. And what was worse, he couldn't even run.  
(I can't get out I can't get out I'm trapped trapped trapped)  
"Help me," he cried, but his voice was so dry it came out as a croak. "Someone--"  
"Lord Jesus--" Pruitt began again, and Micah let out a sob of panic. The scarecrow had been right -- he _was _in great danger. And though he had woken up, he couldn't do a thing about it.  
"Someone help me!" he tried again.  
(trapped trapped TRAPPED)  
"--use your shepherd's crook to bring him back from the edge of eternal damnation--" Micah looked up at the babbling woman and sobbed again, fear and panic overwhelming him.  
"Oh, God, someone help me!" Pruitt turned her sharp-eyed gaze on him and scowled.  
"Mr. Balding," she said coldly, "if you continue shouting, I'm afraid we'll skip the baptismal and continue right to the finale." She looked back down at the Bible. "Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come--"  
"Please!" he screamed, his throat feeling dry and raw. "Please, someone help me!" Pruitt sighed and looked down again.  
"Stop making things difficult. No one can hear you." She continued preaching, and Micah suddenly began to do something he hadn't done in a long time -- pray.  
(Please, God, help me. Please, don't let her kill me. Please--)  
"--make him holy in your sight--"  
(Please, please, please--)  
"--and help him to understand your purpose--"  
_(Please!)_  
"--and his own." Pruitt smiled and reached for the knife, seizing it with bony hands. "We're skipping straight to the end, Mr. Balding. Sorry for the rush. I'm on a tight schedule." There was a pause. "Careful, now. This could hurt a little." Micah looked up, eyes wide.  
(Can't you send me an angel? Just a little one?)  
"Please," he croaked. She raised the knife with a smile.  
"In the name of the Lord--"  
(!!DEAR GOD, SOMEONE HELP ME!!)  
  
And she stopped.  
  
There was an odd noise, a grunt of exertion, that didn't seem to come from Pruitt. Then she screamed. It was a horrible sound, long and wavering, a scream of rage and agony. Pruitt dropped the knife and grasped the air for a moment, then fell face-forward on the bed. Something silver glinted in the moonlight. The other knife was in her back -- the one with the angel. And behind her, there was Gabe: face white, eyes wide, and tears streaming down her cheeks.  
(I asked for an angel.)  
"Micah," she croaked, and stumbled towards him, arms outstretched. She enveloped him in a tight, terrified embrace. Micah hugged back, too shocked to speak, and stared at the body beyond Gabe's shoulders.  
(Well... thanks, up there.)  



	11. Guardian Angel

--Heh, thought I'd never finish, didn't ya'? Well, it's all done. I still don't own CotC or Micah, but thanks so much for letting me borrow them. Gabe, Pruitt, Edith, all them are mine. Don't use them without my permission. I'll hurt you severely. Much thanks to my new beta-reader, Amanda (Scarlet Wine here on FF.net). And sorry that this chapter is so short... I just couldn't find a good way to end it. Oh, one more thing -- be on the lookout for the sequel, 'Casting Down Angels'.--_  
  
Here's to the nights we felt alive  
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry  
Here's to goodbye, tomorrow's gonna come too soon_  
--from _Here's To The Night_ by Eve 6**  
**

  
Local nurse killed in bizarre religious ceremony  


_Central Hospital is normally a calm, peaceful place for patients to recover. Friday night, it proved otherwise. Micah Balding, a patient at Central, woke late Friday evening to discover that he was being held hostage in his room. His nurse had apparently suffered a severe nervous breakdown due to an impending virus she'd caught, and was planning to baptise Balding to 'cleanse him of his sins'. Sarah Pruitt, 54 years old, was a trusted attendant, according to Dr. George Phillips. "She had been going home sick lately," Phillips said, "but we never thought anything was wrong." Balding, a little unnerved by this religious lunacy, got an even greater shock when he understood that Pruitt meant to kill him. "She told me she would be doing me a favor," he told reporters. However, Pruitt's plans were stopped just as she put them into action. Another nurse, Gabrielle Sterling, had arrived at the hospital soon after Pruitt to check on Balding. She watched from the hall, and when Pruitt reached for the knife, she took matters into her own hands. Sterling grabbed another knife and fatally stabbed the would-be-murderess, bringing an end to Balding's nightmare. With testimony from Balding and Edith Hoffman, another nurse attacked by Pruitt, police filed no charges against Sterling. No trial took place. Sterling couldn't be reached for comment, and Balding refused. But Central Hospital has surely been shaken up, as well as Balding. Nurses will be screened more thoroughly to prevent the chance of any more Sarah Pruitts._  
  
Edith folded up the newspaper with a snort.  
"Those reporters," she said disgustedly. "They blow everything out of proportion." Gabe laughed, but it sounded forced.  
"Yeah." She turned to Micah and smiled, the grin looking relieved and shaky. "Are you all right? Really?"  
"I was going to ask you the same question," he said quietly. Three days had gone by, and the horror of what had happened was still lingering in the room. It had made his stomach lurch when a nurse came in and changed the bloodstained sheets.  
"I'm fine," Gabe replied, looking surprised. "You were the one who--" Micah put a finger over her lips.  
"Sh," he murmured. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore." She blinked at him, then smiled a little.  
"Okay." Her voice was muffled beneath the restraining finger. "Okay. We don't have to talk about it." Gabe paused, then took his hand and pulled it from her lips. "But we do have to talk about something." He frowned, feeling something serious coming on.  
"What?" She didn't answer at first, just stroked his knuckles thoughtfully. Then she looked up.  
"You've healed completely, Micah. Recovered entirely. The hospital is releasing you." There was a split-second of happiness  
(I can_ leave)_  
before he realized what that meant.  
"But-- my parents--" Gabe nodded, lowering her eyes.  
"Yeah," she murmured. "I know." Micah felt a confused frown twist his brows.  
(foster home)  
"Where will I go?" he said weakly.  
(foster home)  
Still holding his hand, she drew a finger soothingly across his knuckles.  
"I know." Gabe let out a little sigh, then brought his hand to her lips and kissed it lightly. "I know." Micah stared at her in disbelief.  
"But-- but where will I--" She didn't answer this time. The girl just opened his hand and pressed his palm against her cheek. He felt anger and fear twisting his stomach, but he stroked her face with his thumb all the same. "Gabe," Micah said quietly, "Where will I go?"  
"I don't know," she whispered.  
(orphanage children's home foster parents)  
_"I_ know." The voice came from behind them, loud and unexpected. Micah whirled, afraid that someone had seen them, but it was only Edith. Gabe spoke, sounding a little bewildered.  
"Edith, what are you talking about?" The chubby woman walked forward and smiled, lacing her hands over her ample stomach.  
"I've spoken to the agency, and they're going to allow me to adopt you, Micah."  
(!!!)  
"Adopt me?" he echoed dully. Gabe's hand, which had transferred to his shoulder, squeezed it tightly.  
"You'd do that, Edith?" Her voice sounded hopeful, but it held a little twinge of disbelief. Edith nodded, smiling pleasantly.  
"Of course. I don't want to see him go to an orphanage." Gabe glanced at him, excited and trying not to show it.  
"That means-- we'll be in the same house and everything--"  
"Only if he agrees," Edith interjected. Micah looked up. Everything was happening so fast... he was still trying to get over the fact that he was being released from the hospital. "You'd only be with me a few years, until you're 18, but I can show you how to take care of yourself in this condition--" Edith blushed a little, looking embarrassed. "Well... I can help you with your wheelchair." Gabe's grip on his shoulder had loosened. She shot him a glance.  
"So," she began uncomfortably. "Will you?" All eyes were on him.  
(Well, what's it gonna be?)  
Micah blinked, then swallowed a little.  
"Of course," he said quietly. "What did you think I'd say?" Gabe threw her arms around his neck before he had even finished the sentence, and Edith clasped her hands with a smile.  
"Good!" she cried cheerfully. "I'll go tell the agency right now!" She left as fast as her feet would take her. Gabe buried her face deep in his shoulder, and Micah was surprised to feel a few tears soak his shirt.  
"Thank you," she murmured. He patted her back soothingly, quite startled that she was so happy.  
(it's because she loves you idiot)  
"No problem," Micah whispered, and closed his eyes. Everything was falling into place, surprisingly well.  
(How much longer until we dive-bomb into the next shit pile, hm?)  
But that didn't matter for the moment. What mattered was that Gabe was there and she needed him. And he needed her.  
  
The papers signed, the hospital informed, and the room cleaned up, he was ready to leave. Edith was waiting outside in her car -- some sort of specialized thing for handicaps -- while Gabe and Micah headed out. She pushed his wheelchair slowly to the front door, then stopped.  
"Micah," she began, dropping to a knee beside him. Gabe dug in her pockets for a moment, then fished out something. "I-- I want you to have this." She held it out towards him, and Micah squinted at it. It was a tiny silver angel on a chain, one blowing a horn. He frowned and shook his head.  
"I can't--"  
"It's Gabriel." She took his hand and opened it, pressing the necklace against his palm. "I figured that, what with all that happened, you had to have someone watching over you." Micah stared at her, then smiled a little and unfastened the clasp.  
"Yeah," he murmured, hooking the chain securely behind his neck. "I'm pretty sure I had an angel." Gabe gave him a relieved grin and ruffled his hair.  
"Thought so. C'mon, Edith's waiting in the car. I'll show you how to work the lift." She slipped behind him again and -- thunk thunk, over the curb -- they were heading across the parking lot, towards Edith's big silver monster. Micah sat quietly, idly fiddling with the angel around his neck. The Children were gone, the corn was behind him, and He Who Walks Behind The Rows had no doubt found more souls to destroy. He had found friendship, hope, and love.  
(God does work in mysterious ways, I guess.)  
  
And he was going home.


End file.
